Resonance
by diasounds
Summary: This is who they are, who they were always meant to be, and they won't ever be anything else.  Picking up where JKR left off- with our heroes picking up the pieces.
1. Until We Get Burned

**Chapter One / Until We Get Burned**

**This is who they are, who they were always meant to be, and they won't ever be anything else.**

**In this chapter, our heroes deal with the immediate aftermath of the battle, and the loss of a family member.**

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_If there's one thing I've learned,  
__it's that we never feel the heat,  
__until we get burned._

_But we try so hard not to die,  
__sometimes we forget to appreciate life._

**_-Appreciation And The Bomb, by The Spill Canvas_**

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Hogwarts was stained.

Standing at the doors of the Great Hall, Harry watched as one by one, bodies were removed from the castle. With clean up and repairs completed, this was the last act left to return the castle to its former state. But to Harry, it would never be the same; once a place of home and safety, Harry would never again walk these halls without memory of these days, without the crushing weight of the responsibility he felt for every single death.

This responsibility it what kept him standing there, watching them float past him, accompanied by their loved ones. He was determined to see every face, to endure each sharp pang of recognition and guilt he felt when he saw someone he knew, someone he hadn't realized had fallen.

"Harry?"

He didn't look up when he heard Hermione's voice, his attention instead focused on the ashen face of a young girl floating eerily past.

"Harry, p-please."

He'd witnessed her crying and shaken so much in the past months, her anguish didn't immediately resonate with him. He blinked slowly and tore his gaze away from the procession. As he turned to face her, concern finally flooded him as he saw tears streaming down her face, and her visible shaking.

He reached for her immediately and she grasped his hands in return. They were touching a lot more lately- all three of them.

Touch.

Warmth.

Because warmth meant life, and life was comfort.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, dread filling him. "Who?"

The deaths hadn't stopped when the battle did. There were injuries, rubble and falling debris, even a sudden illness that claimed the lives of half a dozen- and people continued to fall, even after Voldemort had.

"No one- he's not-" Hermione stammered. She was out of breath, and Harry realized she must have run to him. "It's George, he's locked himself in one of the dormitories- we can't get him to come out, and Ron's worried he- he might-"

"Mr and Mrs Weasley-" Harry started, already walking, hooking his arm through Hermione's.

"They've gone, to take Fred-" Hermione's voice hitched at the name, and Harry felt his own stab of grief. "Nearly everyone went home with them. And the Floo is still down. Charlie's gone on broom, but it could be hours. He won't talk to Ron- I thought maybe you-"

"Hermione what am I going to-"

"You're like a brother to all of them, Harry, you know that." Hermione quickened her pace, pulling Harry with her. "But it isn't exactly the same, and maybe you can get through to him."

Harry understood. Ron had said it once, after ranting to Harry about a fight with Percy. Harry was the perfect blend to the Weasleys- enough of family to understand them, but enough of a friend to be distanced, unbiased.

"Come on." Harry fell into a run.

This is where he felt at home now. Hand in hand with one best friend, running towards another, this is where Harry felt safe.

They rounded the corner into the common room and Harry dropped Hermione's hand to run ahead of her up the stairs.

"George, _please_."

Ron sat on the floor, slumped against the door with his ear pressed to the wood. The fear in his eyes was enough to stop Harry cold. He kept his distance but Ron waved him forward.

"George, Harry's here, talk to Harry." Ron pleaded wildly, pushing himself against the doorframe, making room for Harry to sit on the floor beside him. Harry dropped his hand on Ron's knee as he sat. Touch, warmth, comfort.

"Lock broken, mate?" Harry called lightly.

The laugh from the other side of the door was hysterical sounding, high and dark, and it chilled Harry to the core.

"Fred liked you, Harry." George's voice was flat, almost unrecognizable. "We both did. Left you a share in the Shop. A- a sort of, Marauder's Legacy, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah, mate, that's great, thanks." Harry met Ron's wide eyed gaze, mirroring his own sudden fear. George and Fred had always been one, and George obviously couldn't separate himself from his twin at the moment. "But you aren't going anywhere anytime soon, right George? You've got lots of time to show me the ropes."

"Already gone, mate. He's- he's waiting for me-"

A crash sounded from the other side of the door. Ron flinched as if slapped and Harry grabbed his shoulder. Touch, comfort. Ron called out, his voice raw.

"George?"

Silence.

"_George!_"

Click.

The door swung open. For a moment, nobody moved, nobody breathed. And then Ron was scrambling, up off the floor, flying into the room, Harry on his heels. George was on the floor, kneeling in shards of a broken mirror. He'd ripped it from the wall and the frame lay in pieces. Tears streamed down his face as he held out his wand.

"He's w-waiting for me."

"George, no-"

"Ron, I can still _feel_ him." George shook the wand in his brother's direction. "Take it, before I change m-my mind."

Ron took the wand and Harry stepped forward and together they pulled George up on the floor, shards of mirror crackled under their feet.

"I can't." George mumbled as they shuffled towards the nearest bed. He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. "Mum would be livid."

"That's right. She'd never forgive you." Ron nodded enthusiastically, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he lay down and closed his eyes. "Just rest, mate."

"S'rough." whispered George. "Miss 'im."

Ron grimaced and rubbed a hand over his face. He remained silent.

"We all miss him." Harry said, throwing the covers over George. But he was already asleep.

Hermione reappeared suddenly, and out of nowhere, creeping silently around the bed to lay a hand on Ron's arm.

"Let me sit with him for a bit..." she said softly. "Take a walk with Harry?"

Ron nodded. He let his hand come up and linger for a moment in Hermione's hair and then dropped the curls and turned without a word.

Harry followed Ron down to the Common Room. He kept his distance for a minute or two, watched as Ron placed George's wand on the table and paced in front of the fireplace for a moment. Ron got like this often, wound up and full of frustration and Harry had learned it was best to let him work it out and walk it off on his own.

"This is worst case scenario, really." Ron said suddenly as he rounded on Harry, back toward the window on the other side of the room. "Out of nine of us, it had to be one of them? Bloody piss off, this is."

Harry just nodded.

"Though I didn't think we'd make it through this well off in the numbers, to be honest." Ron started walking again, back towards Harry and the fireplace, around the table, back to the window. His shoulder brushed Harry's as he passed. Touch, comfort. "Never dreamed the three of us would all make it."

Harry nodded again. This was something he'd marveled over himself in the past few days.

"Everyone would have expected it to be me, right?" Ron halted again near the fire, face to face with Harry. "Mum was prepared for me- she would have seen that comin-"

"Ron, no." Harry suddenly understood Ron's train of thought. "Don't say it should have been you, you can't play that game with yourself."

"It doesn't make sense, Harry."

"I know. But this isn't something you can solve with maths, Ron." Every part of Harry felt just the way Ron did, that Fred's death was pointless, unexpected, and completely unfair. But he needed to say what Ron needed to hear. "It doesn't make any sense, I know that. We should all be dead. We should have been dead at Gringotts. Hermione should have been dead at Malfoy Manner-"

Ron flinched.

"The three of us should have been dead in a tent 6 months ago, Ron. Why do you think I wanted to leave you two back at The Burrow? I never thought you two would get through this, let alone me! This really is _best_ case scenario, Ron. It could just as well have been both of them."

"That would have been better." Ron stared at his feet, long ginger locks falling across his face. His shoulders hitched and Harry knew the damn had broken, frustration had played out. Ron laughed suddenly, high pitched and humorless. "Fuck, we did all right, didn't we?"

"I guess we did."

Ron sprung forward and hugged him. Harry gripped back, and both of them shook.

They drew apart a moment later, as the common room door swung inwards, but still clutched each others sweaters with one hand- touch, comfort.

Half the Weasley clan piled through the portrait hole, Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Percy and Charlie.

"He's sleeping." Harry supplied the answer to their silent question. "Upstairs, Hermione's with him."

Mrs Weasley and Percy made for the stairs silently. Charlie stared at the two of them by the fire for a moment before he strode forward- and to Harry's great surprise, took both of them into a hug.

"We're going home." he said quietly. "It's all over now."

It wasn't over though. This much Harry knew for sure. The war had ended, but a new one was beginning. A war for recovery, a battle for happiness. But they would fight this battle too, for they were warriors, soldiers.

This is who they are, the only thing they know how to be.

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**A/N: I don't have a thought out plot/plan for this story, but more of small snippets and moments that occur in the year after the final battle at Hogwarts. This will be a story of recovery, and rebuilding, told in a sort of scrapbook form: each chapter will be a single experience during this year, and while they will appear in chronological order, and will flow as one story, you may jump about and read them out of order as individual stories of their own.**

**I hope you enjoy and review! I am open to any and all constructive criticism. **


	2. All Of His Friends

**Chapter Two / All Of His Friends**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. two weeks after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, George takes a step forward in working through the death of his twin**

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_No, I don't want a battle from beginning to end,  
__I don't want a cycle of recycled revenge._

_I don't want to follow Death,  
__and all of his friends._

**_-Death And All His Friends, by Coldplay_**

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From the moment they're born, magical twins experience a bond stronger than any other, a bond that can often reach beyond death. Fred and George Weasley treasured this bond fiercely.

As infants, they couldn't get a wink of sleep unless they were squished up against one another in bed- separate cribs were never an option. If one was fussy, the other cried too. If one were ill, the other wouldn't sleep. It was hard work raising twins, but nothing Molly Weasley couldn't handle.

When the twins were 7, and finally willing to leave each other's presence for a few hours at a time, Fred fell down the Weasley's well. George, sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich, went white as a sheet, screamed for his big brother and took off running for the yard. When Bill pulled a soaked and spluttering, but smiling Fred from the well, he turned to George and asked how he knew.

"I felt the splash, Billy!" George said, grinning, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

From then on, the bond only grew stronger. Although talkative for company's sake, the two almost never spoke when alone- they never had to. Casual eye contact and the constant back and forth of emotion and general ideas was enough to carry conversation.

When George lost his ear, phantom pain flashed through Fred, and it took everything he had not to fall off his own broom. He couldn't shake the dull ache in his head or the dread in his gut until he laid eyes on his twin again.

When Fred went down in battle, so did George. He'd been running with Charlie when the pain cut through him, so great he could barely stand, and he felt as if someone had reached inside of him, grabbed his heart and was pulling. Charlie had pulled him into an empty classroom and sealed the door just in time for George to fall to his knees.

George had the knowledge of what was happening, for a brief few seconds before it did. Just long enough to feel Fred's _imsorryimsorryfuckimsorry_ and to send his own _itsokay-justholdon-illfindyou_. And then there was nothing. A pain so fierce George thought he would die there on the floor, clutching Charlie's arm- and then it was gone, and in it's wake, a silence. Emptiness greater than George had ever imagined.

Later, kneeling over Fred's body, George nearly fainted, straining himself to make the connection he so desperately craved. A Twin Bond didn't have to end with death; they had known that- they'd done their research as the war began, needed to know the facts, their odds. Kneeling in the Great Hall by Fred's head, George took every ounce of grief he felt and hurled it down the tattered remains of their bond. He felt it then, a mere fraction of what it had once been, but there, a voice, and a feeling- no matter how dull and far away, it was Fred.

They'd had their moment there. A goodbye in only words they knew how to speak. And George sobbed, believing this was the end. But the faint presence that was Fred didn't disappear. It grew and swelled to a constant, impatient push that George could only translate to _where are you? Aren't you coming?_ And however disturbing it seemed, George took comfort in it over the following days.

It had been a week since locking himself in the dormitories; he was back at The Burrow. He'd begged and pleaded to anyone who would listen to just let him go, let him retreat to their flat above the shop where he could sit in front of the mirror for the rest of eternity, allowing Fred's presence to fill him, and he could pretend he wasn't alone.

They'd taken his wand, so he couldn't apparate. His last attempt at a midnight break for freedom had ended with his father and Harry physically blocking the door while Ginny sobbed, begged him to stay. And then, finally after days of nothingness he felt Fred's urgent panic as he looked into his sister's eyes- _don't leave her don't you leave her._

He gave up trying after that.

He'd stopped sleeping. He couldn't bear to break down the connection for that long, terrified he'd wake up and every trace of his twin would be gone. He spent his nights sitting up in the kitchen, usually with Charlie or Ron, occasionally Harry- none of them felt comfortable leaving him alone after his stunt at Hogwarts.

He considered it progress the night Harry and Ron both took his word for it when he said he'd be ok, and left him blissfully alone. Coffee was his best friend now, and it was nearly dawn when he stood to pour a fourth cup and nearly took a header into the kitchen sink. The wave of dizziness was overpowered only by a wave of pure frustration and concern and _._

He lived for these moments, these small tastes of the connection he spent every second trying to keep alive. The first thing his hands landed on was a loaf of bread and he toasted and buttered every piece.

Half way through the stack, the sun peeking over the horizon, Hermione entered the kitchen.

"I know he's still with you," she said, by way of greeting. It wasn't sympathy or cruelty, or the desperate fear his mother was forcing upon him. It was simply knowledge of the subject at hand, and George welcomed it.

When he managed to forge a decent connection and spent four hours in the same spot, talking to his twin, begging for an answer, he was met with everything from fear to pity. They all must have thought he'd gone mad. But Hermione watched him with nothing more than simple curiosity and he knew she was insanely smart, that she understood. She knew it was possible.

"Toast?" he offered, waving to the plate on the table. He took a bite of his own piece, chewed determinedly and was rewarded with a swell of phantom approval within him.

"At least you're eating now." Hermione smiled warmly as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

George shrugged, "He wants me to."

"Is it that bold?" she asked softly, in a tone that suggested he didn't have to answer. "He's asked you to eat?"

George shook his head and took another bite.

"I could FEEL him worried because I wouldn't." George sighed and threw down the crust. "When he was- when we were both here, we could almost speak. Full sentences, fully formed ideas, images. I always knew where he was. Now, it's faint, mostly emotions, feelings. And it's difficult to keep up..."

George chuckled softly.

"I'm fucking tired, Hermione."

"George... You know it's..." she hesitated and then reached across the table for his hand. He let her have it. "It won't ever seal off entirely. For as long as you're here and he's there, he may be able to connect briefly, occasionally... But this has to stop. I'm sure you can feel it fading, you can't keep up a constant connection, there just isn't enough to work with."

George just nodded, squeezed her hand a little. He'd known.

"You need to let go. Allow yourself to grieve, George. You'll wear yourself down if you try to keep this up."

"I'm scared, Hermione." George whispered, meeting her gaze. "I don't know how to live without this... Without him."

"You'll learn." Hermione said, tears welling in her eyes. And then she squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes, past him. "Help him let go, Fred."

George swelled with approval and affection that wasn't only his own.

"He loves you, Hermione. We all do." George smiled a little, "Even if you are kind of a twat for hooking up with that one bloke. What's his name, Rupert? Rankin?"

"His name is Ronald, actually and he doesn't take to kindly to you holding her hand like that." Ron said loudly, announcing his entrance. Hermione laughed tearfully. George smiled and leaned across the table to plant a kiss on her forehead, while inside of him Fred's presence lessened just a little more.

Less than a week later, when they were all gathered around the table for dinner one evening, Fred and George's connection broke for good. Lighthearted conversation and gentle laughter was interrupted by the clatter of a fork on the floor and everyone looked towards George.

"Don't leave me, don't leave me you git-" George muttered fiercely, his eyes shut, hands fisted on the table, obviously pouring every ounce of energy into this communication. "I don't know _what_ to do!"

And then suddenly, and to everyone's great surprise, George laughed. Not the forced tragic laughter of the past few days, but true, humor filled, laughter he only ever shared with one person.

And just as sudden as it had started it stopped. George gripped the table and grimaced.

"Charlie-"

Charlie was out of his seat, around the table to his brother's side before George even finished speaking. Charlie had been closest to the twins as children, and if anyone came close to feeling the loss of Fred as much as George did, it was him. It was no surprise the twins called for him now.

"I'm here, I'm here, George."

Every ounce of color left George's face in a second, and he fell forwards into Charlie's arms, shaking and silent.

What Fred gave to his brother in that final moment, whatever message he sent, no one would ever know. George would never tell.

The Weasley's buried one of their own that night. Hermione and Ginny dragged massive crate of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs out to the yard where Bill, Ron, Arthur, and Harry dug the grave. Charlie and Molly wrapped Fred in his warmest cloak.

The entire family gathered round as George jumped down into the hole to crouch by his twin. He tucked his brother's wand against his chest and then tightened his cloak, as if to keep him warm. George leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Fred's.

"Give 'em hell, Fred." He whispered.

He clambered out of the hole and grabbed a shovel. There wasn't a dry eye present as everyone watched him work to fill the hole himself. Finally he threw down his shovel before kicking over the wooden crate, releasing the fireworks.

"I'm opening the Shop tomorrow." George announced, as the last flaming orange dragon fizzed out of sight over the rose bushes. "We've just finished a war… people will need a laugh."

He took one last long look at the fresh earth under his feet, and then smiling ever so slightly, he turned and walked towards the house alone.


	3. Your Arms Like Towers

**Chapter Three / Your Arms Like Towers**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. one month after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, Harry considers the meaning of family, and Hermione struggles to cope.**

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_Keep me safe inside,  
__your arms like towers._

_Tower over me._

_We are broken,  
__what must we do to restore our innocence,  
__and all the promise we adored?_

_Give us life again,  
__'cause we just want to be whole._

**_-We Are Broken, by Paramore_**

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For a very long time, Harry Potter did not understand the idea of a family. The Dursley's were people he lived with, and Lily and James Potter were people in pictures who he longed to have known. Parents were nothing but a foreign concept.

As he grew, Harry learned many things about parents from many different sources. According to Dudley, parents bought you things and fed you. Ron insisted his parents were supportive, although unbearably embarrassing at times. Hermione spoke of guidance, and wisdom. Harry never had any of these things.

In his first few years of knowing the Weasley's, Harry did a lot of thinking. He wondered if his Mother would have been as overbearing yet loving, as Mrs. Weasley. He wondered if his father and Mr. Weasley would have shared the same quirky, yet authoritative nature.

Harry's first true understanding of what a parent should be came from knowing Sirius and Remus. They gave him guidance, they protected him, and more than anything, gave him a connection to the father he didn't get to keep. Often when with them, he would imagine James was there too; looking concerned after a dementor had put him on his ass, or laughing alongside Sirius, the same proud gleam in his eye.

James' friends helped Harry to _know_ what parents were, but it was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who first made him _feel_ as if he had some. He often recalled the memory of Mrs. Weasley hugging him after Cedric Diggory's death. It was in that moment that he truly understood what a mother was, what Lily Potter should have meant to him.

Over three years after the only mother he had ever known embraced him so lovingly, Harry had come to understand family, to value it, more than he ever thought he would. He'd stopped thinking of the people he loved as _just like family_, because they weren't really, he had nothing to compare them to in the first place. In reality, they _were_ his family- the only one he'd ever had.

Molly and Arthur Weasley truly were Harry's parents, in every way but blood, and Harry had spilt so much blood, he didn't think that really mattered anymore. He was starting to think he was in love with Ginny Weasley, and worried for a while that this would change the close bond he had with her brothers, but his fears were silenced quickly.

Harry, Ron and Hermione, were a category all their own. A new breed of family, but always friends first. Even with Ron and Hermione's newfound relationship, their dynamic changed very little. There was never awkwardness; no one was ever a third wheel of any kind. And when the situation called for such a thing, all their smaller bonds, titles, disappeared. Brother, sister, lover- all fell away and they were just friends. And it was the truest kind of friendship one could find, a friendship forged through trials and terrors, and the simplicity of growing up together.

One such situation, were Hermione's nightmares. Terrible dreams plagued her, even weeks after the end of the war. The boys would often be woken by Ginny late at night to trek down the hall to her room, and soothe Hermione back to sleep. One night, a month after the end, it wasn't Ginny who woke them, but Hermione herself.

Harry wakes suddenly, and for a moment doesn't know why. It's only as his eyes adjust to the darkness of Ron's room that he spots her, hovering between their beds, just standing in the centre of the room, arms wrapped around her torso, shivering in the early morning chill.

"Hermione?"

She lets out a small gasp, but doesn't turn to face him. Harry sits up and groggily untangles himself from his sheets to stand. Ron has woken by then, and in the darkness Harry sees him squinting as he sits up and slides to the far side of the bed, making room.

"Come on," Harry coaxes, an arm around Hermione as he leads her towards Ron's bed. "Sit down, okay?"

They sit against Ron's headboard, Hermione squished between them, her head against Harry's shoulder, legs draped over Ron's lap. Ron flings his blankets over all of them, tucking them around Hermione, effectively sealing her in a Ron, Harry and blanket cocoon.

"You're okay," he says, "You're safe with us."

It isn't the nightmares. They aren't so bad. It's the episodes of blind panic that follow. Posttraumatic stress and the like were treated with simple Cheering Charms in the wizarding world. When Ron first suggested such a thing Hermione had thrown things at him and ranted about false happiness. Harry didn't blame her. Two days later, Harry caught Ron reading a book of muggle psychology- he's an expert now.

"I'm s-sorry-" Hermione chokes. "I d-didn't mean to w-wake-"

"Shh." Harry rubs her shoulder gently. "Just breathe."

They sit together for a long while, muttering words of comfort and encouragement. Harry pets Hermione's hair and Ron wraps a large hand around her leg in his lap, his thumb running small circles against her calf. She doesn't speak again until her breathing has slowed to a near normal level and her sobbing has turned into the occasional hiccup.

"You wanna talk about it?" Harry asks gently. They always ask. She never offers any insight. Until tonight.

"It was B-belatrix." Hermione whispers. Ron and Harry exchanged a look in the dim light; they had assumed as much.

"She's gone, Hermione." Harry says, twisting his body to turn and face her better. "She can't ever hurt anyone else. Ever."

"I _know_ that!" Hermione says fiercely. She clenches blankets in her fists. "I _know_. I- I just can't stop f-feeling like this."

"Feeling _how_?" Ron pushes gently, squeezing her knee. "Talk to us, Hermione."

"I'm just so fr-frightened." Hermione starts to sob again now, as she closes her eyes, bowing her head in shame. "When I close m-my eyes, I see you d-dead, the both of you. And _she's_ standing over me, and I'm j-just waiting t-to die-"

She wipes fiercely at her eyes, and tucks her hair behind one ear.

"I know its done, I know we're out of danger," she says, her voice getting continuously louder. "But we're all here, on lockdown like we're _waiting_ for something, like if anyone leaves they won't ever come back, like _he's_ still out there, waiting to get his chance at us all-"

"Hermione, it's over-"

"IT DOESN'T FEEL LIKE ITS OVER-!" Hermione shrieks. Harry bolts off the bed, lunging for his wand, and quickly sends a soundproofing charm at the door before she can wake anyone. When he turns round Ron has Hermione around the shoulders with one arm, his other hand clapped over her mouth, muffling her cries. When he looks up to meet Harry's eyes, he looks as shaken as Harry feels. Hermione doesn't often loose control this way, and when she did, it was usually out of anger, not agony.

She stops struggling, and goes limp in Ron's arms, crying softly. Harry crawls back onto the bed and she reaches for him, fingers hooking in the hem of his sleep shirt and holding on. Her other hand clutches Ron's arm as he tentatively removes his hand from her face. Her breathing is sharp and fast.

"Ron, sit her up, quick!" Harry says, grabbing the hand Hermione has wrapped in his shirt. "Before she has another spell, like last time."

A few days before, Hermione had gotten upset and began to hyperventilate. George and Ginny's attempts to calm her had failed, and by the time the others had entered the room Hermione had full out fainted on the kitchen floor, much to Ron's terror.

Together, Ron and Harry prop Hermione up against headboard and back up just enough so as not to crowd her. She shakes her head violently as she tries, and fails to catch her breath.

"I- I c-can't-"

"_Yes,_ you can." Harry says firmly, squeezing her hand. "You're going to be fine, Hermione. I'm here, Ron's here. We're going to fix this, ok? You're going to be fine, just concentrate on breathing."

"We're not going anywhere." Ron whispers in agreement, pulling her hair away from her tear-streaked face. "Nothing else is going to happen to you- you're safe. Everyone's _safe."_

"Should we get someone…?" Harry asks worriedly. At this, Hermione seems to get some sort of hold on herself, straightening her shoulders, trembling lessening just slightly.

"No." she says firmly, sucking in a deep breath and shaking her head. "I'm fine. I- I should go back to my bed n-now."

The look of determination of her face is the first glimpse of true Hermione any of them has seen in days.

"Not bloody likely!" Ron says, his ears turning a bit pink. "You think we're letting you leave after the fit you've just had? Lie down."

"Are you two trying to t-ta-take advantage of me?" Hermione asks, through a yawn. She flops down on the bed, dragging the other two down on either side of her. "That's hardly very tactful."

"Oh Ron's just full of tact," Harry smirks, laying his head against Hermione's shoulder. "Aren't you, mate?"

"Piss off." Ron throws a leg across the bed, kicking Harry in the shin, and then stilling there. "Blimey, she's asleep already."

"She's worn out, mate. She's up like this nearly every night now." Harry says, glancing over Hermione's face, noticing her pale skin and dark circled eyes. She really does look awful.

"Mum's worried she isn't really eating, either…" Ron says softly, running a finger against her cheek, ears' reddening when he realizes Harry is watching.

"Ron… I've been thinking." Harry says cautiously. He's avoided bringing this up to his best mate, worried about the backlash he would receive. "I don't want to just up and leave- I mean, you're lot have been nothing but good to me, and I wouldn't want to upset your Mum. And I certainly don't plan to leave as long as Hermione's in this state… But, I can't stay here forever."

"_Thank Merlin._" Ron exclaimed, visibly deflating with relief. "Mate, I've only been keeping quite for your sake- their just as much your family as they are mine, and, well, I thought you _wanted_ to stay."

"It's not that I don't want to stay." Harry shakes his head, fiddling with a stray thread on the arm of Hermione's pajama shirt. "But we need some normalcy. And normal isn't living here for the rest of our lives with our Mum crying over all of us."

"She'd do a right side better if she didn't have us here to cry over." Ron says, nodded. "Let's get a flat. Just the three of us."

"You reckon?" Harry asks, surprised.

"What you thought the two of us we're going to up and ditch you?" Ron shakes his head. "No way, mate. I can't handle this one alone, not like this…"

Ron gazes over Hemione's sleeping form. Harry sees him blink tears back, but doesn't judge or tease, he feels the same way.

"She's really not well, is she?"

Harry shakes his head.

"I can't remember the last time I saw her read something. " he says. "She barely left her bed yesterday…"

"Right. Well, that settles it." Ron says, determined. "Tomorrow we pack up all our rubbish and find a place. That way we can stay on top of her, get her better."

"Okay." Harry nods, meeting Ron's eye. "I'm in."

"'Course you're in, bloody sod, " Ron laughs, shoving his face into Hermione's hair. "Face facts, Harry, mate. You'd be lost without us."

This is how Mrs. Weasley will find them the next morning; Hermione curled in the centre of Ron's bed, Harry lying with his head against her shoulder, Ron's face pressed into her hair. One of her hands wound into the fabric of Harry's shirt, the other clasped in Ron's hand across her stomach. Harry and Ron's feet on top of one another near the end of the bed.

The look on Hermione's face is something close to peaceful, and so Mrs. Weasley backs out of the room, a small smile on her lips, leaving the little family alone.

* * *

**A/N: Hermione's reactions to being hurt and angry throughout canon, have been rather extreme; yelling, throwing things, sending small magical birds after Ron… And I think that her emotional reaction to the aftermath of the ware would be just as extreme.**

** Wizards or not, after everything they went through, I don't believe all three of them would have escaped without some sort of psychological consequences. Being as calm and collected as Hermione normally is, I felt that showing her lose that collectedness would be the most shocking, and would also allow an opportunity to strengthen the friendship the three of them have, and grow the newly formed relationship between her and Ron. **

** I hope everyone enjoys how I have tried to portray this; I would love to here feedback on this chapter. Thanks so much for reading! **

**-Laine.**


	4. Paid The Price

**Chapter Four / Paid The Price**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. six weeks after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, Harry and Ron and Hermione have moved out of the Burrow, and on to recovery.**

**

* * *

**

_If you feel __you've paid the price,  
__and your wounds __should cease to heal._

_And everything you love in life,  
__spins like a winding wheel._

_If you should wake __to find you're abandoned,  
__and the road you travel l__eads to a dead end._

_When death creeps in __to play it's part,  
__you must follow your heart._

**_-Against The Grain, by City And Colour_**

**_

* * *

_**

After nearly a week of hunting for a flat, the perfect one made itself available to Ron and Harry. A modest three-bedroom place, above a little Charms bookstore in Diagon Alley. Ron had refused to look any further. He'd hoped that being so close to so many books would rekindle Hermione's reading, a distraction from her depression. Also given the fact that the place was so close to the twin's shop, where Ron had been helping out, there was no denying; the place was perfect.

They'd brought the idea to Hermione's attention then, that evening in the sitting room. She'd looked up from petting Crookshanks to stare at Harry for a moment and then nodded.

"Okay." She'd whispered, returning to watching Mrs. Weasley knitting near the fireplace. Her lack of excitement put a look of pure devastation on Ron's face.

Looking back, all three of them would agree, leaving the Burrow that morning was one of the hardest things they ever had to do. There were promises to reunite for dinner the following week, hugs and slaps on the back all around and the family dwindled down until only Mrs. Weasley, George, and Ginny stood by the door with the trio.

"It's not like you're never going to see us, Mum" Ron said into her shoulder, rubbing her back as she wept. "We'll visit loads. And this way I can keep a close eye on Georgie, make sure he doesn't blow anything up."

George pretended not to hear this, as he shook Harry's hand.

"My Ronnie, so grown up." She sniffed, patting his cheek. "I'm so proud of you- all of you, oh Hermione dear, come and give us a hug-"

To everyone's surprise, Hermione lunged across the hall throwing herself into Mrs. Weasley's arms, shoulder's shaking.

"There there, dear." Mrs. Weasley held her close, smoothing a hand over Hermione's hair. "You're going to be just fine, these boys will take the best care of you, I know it. But when you find out they can't cook, you come on home and let Mum fix you up something, alright?"

Hermione nodded fiercely. Despite having parents of her own, Harry knew Hermione felt just as he did when it came to Mrs. Weasley. The magical world was different and distant from the one she'd been raised in, and Mrs. Weasley had provided her with care and guidance her own mother could not give from the Muggle world.

As Hermione stepped aside to embrace Ginny, Harry moved towards Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry, my dear." She wrapped her arms around him warmly, and he returned the hug with everything he had, every ounce of love he'd ever felt for this woman.

"I had half of my Gringotts vault moved to yours." Harry blurted into her ear.

Mrs. Weasley pulled back and gaped at him.

"Don't argue, _please_ don't argue." Harry pleaded, holding her hands in his. "Nothing I can ever say, or do, will ever repay you for everything you've done for me, everything you've given to keep me safe. But I won't watch you all struggle to take care of each other anymore. I know you're all too proud to talk about it, so lets not talk about it. Okay?"

Mrs. Weasley trembled as she pulled him in again.

"You silly boy," she whispered. "You will never understand what you've given this family."

"I'll see you this weekend," Harry said hoarsely, kissing her cheek. "For dinner."

He moved to kiss Ginny quickly.

"Drop by, won't you?" he asked, forehead pressed against hers.

"'Course." She smiled. "Take care of 'Mione."

He kissed her again, and turned to take Hermione's hand in his. Ron grasped his shoulder, and they were off.

After a week in the flat, Ron gave up insisting that Hermione sleep alone in her room. It was as if even in sleep she knew she was alone, and every night she woke screaming. After one particularly hard night, when she'd screamed and screamed and broken a window with wild magic, Ron gave up his chivalry act. She slept in his room now.

She spent her nights with Ron, but her days with Harry. Ron left early in the mornings to open the shop with George, and didn't return until well after lunch. On busy days, it was after closing before he would return.

Hermione had good days, where she would wake, and cook breakfast for Harry. The two of them would go down to the Alley, take lunch to the shop for Ron and George. Most days, Harry would hear her when he woke, bustling about the kitchen, or pacing the halls nervously.

When Harry wakes to complete silence, he knows today will be a bad day. The first thing he does is creep across the hall to look in on her. Poking his head into Ron's room he finds her lying on her side, awake, staring at the wall.

"Hey." He says softly, so as not to startle her. "You up for going out today?"

She shakes her head and closes her eyes.

"Okay, that's alright." Harry nods. He knows what kind of day he's dealing with. It won't be the first. "I'm going to grab a shower, ok?"

She nods silently.

Harry showers and dresses, scarf's down a swift breakfast and takes a cup of tea and slice of toast to Ron's room.

"Hungry?" he asks, sitting beside her. She shakes her head again. "Come on, Hermione, sit up and have some tea, at least."

It takes a bit more coaxing, but finally she sits up, shaking hands take the warm cup from Harry's fingers. He lays the plate of toast across her lap, leaving his hand on her knee.

"If you don't eat, Ron's going to want to take you to the hospital again." He says, seriously. Ron had mostly forced her to St. Mungos once already. Their kitchen cupboards now stored bottles of potions to lessen anxiety and calm panic, Dreamless Sleep Draught, and Nourishment Potions for days when Hermione couldn't stomach food. "And I can't let you sit here in bed all day, he'll throw a fit, you know that."

Hermione nods again. She nods a lot lately, now that she hardly speaks. She does however pick up her single slice of toast and take a bite. Harry's heart swells with hope. She chews, her eyes locked with Harry's. He smiles at her.

"You're starving aren't you?" he asks. Hermione hums noncommittally, takes a sip of her tea.

"Why has Ron left books all about?" she asks softly. "He even puts them in the bed, I rolled onto one last night."

"He's hoping you'll read one." Harry says. He can't remember the last time she's said this much at once, and maybe today won't be such a bad day after all. "We're kind of freaked out that you've gone so long without picking one up. You love books."

"I just don't much feel like reading." she replies, staring into her tea. "I'm too tired. I don't like the Sleep Draught. I sleep so much, but I'm still so tired."

Harry wants to jump up and down with excitement. This is the first time she's shown any interest in true conversation, the first time she's voiced her opinion on any of the methods they've tried.

"I know, stuffs not the best for real rest." Harry says, understanding. "You want to try without it?"

"Maybe..." Hermione takes another sip of tea, meets Harry's gaze again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, Hermione?"

"Do- do you ever feel like this?" she let's it tumble out of her mouth, like she's been waiting forever to ask. Her cheeks color and she wont look at him, and he thinks she's going to clam up again, but she pushes through. "Like you just want to sleep all day and pretend none of it's happened?"

"Hermione." Harry grabs her face, and plants a kiss to her forehead, so pleased, so relieved to hear her say those words. "Yes. Completely. Every day. Ron too. If George didn't need him so much, he'd be right here with you, in bed all day."

"Why- how do you...?" Harry strains to hear Hermione's whispers. She still won't meet his eye. "I just feel so-"

"Weak? Useless?" Harry supplies. He knows, he's felt these things himself. "You've been through awful things, Hermione. And you just plowed right through them. What Bellatrix did to you, anyone else would have been a total wreck, but Hermione, you got back on your feet, back to work, the very same day. You didn't let yourself be scared, the whole time we were out there, you kept it together. And now you're handling all of that stress. This is how your mind is dealing with it. It doesn't make you weak, it makes you human. Dumbledore told me that once..."

"I just- I want to be better, Harry." she sniffs, putting her empty teacup down on the bedside table, beside the plate of toast crumbs. "I want to feel like myself again."

"You will." Harry says, wiping a tear off her cheek. "I promise you. It's just going to take a little time is all..."

"You and Ron are doing so well..."

"Are you kidding?" Harry laughs. "After you went to bed last night he and I sat up on the sofa and cried together. Very manly."

Hermione smile is minuscule, but genuine. Harry beams at her.

"Seriously, if we weren't so focused on you, we'd be blubbering messes all the time, Hermione." Harry says, honestly. "I'm more relieved than anything, I know it's twisted, but I don't care. This is finally over for me. And Ron's holding his own, but he's struggling. He's holding it together, for George, for you..."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione flings herself forward into Harry's arms.

Harry freezes for a moment at this sudden unexpected gesture. This is the most Hermione-like thing she's done since they buried Fred. Harry can't help the tears that fill his eyes.

"You're both so good to me." Hermione whispers, gripping the back of his sweater.

"I'ss 'cause we love you." Harry says softly, burying his face in her hair. "Come out to the kitchen with me? You've been cooped in this room for too long."

"Can I take a shower?"

"Of course, yeah." Harry says enthusiastically. For the past couple weeks Ron's been drawing her baths, coaxing her into the bathroom, and sitting on the floor in the hall, singing loudly so she'll know he hasn't left. "I haven't got to sing though, have I?"

Hermione shakes her head, her cheeks pink, a tiny smile on her lips.

"Go ahead, I'll bring you some clothes."

Hermione rises and picks up her dishes. Harry hears her put them in the sink in the kitchen, and a minute later the shower starts up. Harry steals a pair of Ron's sweatpants from the wardrobe and goes to his own room to grab the thickest jumper he owns. Hermione is more comfortable in their clothes on days like this. He goes to the kitchen and puts on some more tea and grabs a piece of parchment to send Ron an update, just as he does every morning.

_She's not up for leaving and I had to talk her into eating but she's talking today. Let us know when you'll be home._

_-Harry_

He whistles for Pigwidgeon and sends him off out the window. The little owl will make this short trip up the Alley several times a day.

The shower has gone off by then and Harry grabs the clothes he's gathered and makes his way to the bathroom. The door is left open a crack- Ron's Rule. He knocks on the doorframe.

"Hermione?" he calls. "I've got clothes for you."

Harry is met with silence and can't help the anxiety building within him.

"Hermione, you decent?" Harry pushed the door open a little more. "I'm coming in, alright?"

Harry pokes just his head around the door at first. The rest of him follows swiftly when he spot her sitting on the cold floor, wrapped in a towel, hair soaking. She's cradling her arm in her lap, staring at the word carved there- mudblood.

"Hey, hey, hey." Harry drops to his knees on the floor in front of her. He whips out his wand and casts a drying spell over her, hoping to quell her shivering. He then lifts her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "We don't look at that, remember?"

Another one of Ron's rules.

Hermione's breathing is rapid and shallow. Harry is starting to panic too; Ron's gotten good at dealing with her fits, but they still shake Harry greatly.

"Okay, it's okay, Hermione, you're fine." He mumbles, grabbing her clothes and praying she's lucid enough to dress herself. "Let's put some clothes on, alright?"

She takes the clothes from him and he helps her stand, next to the vanity so she can prop herself up. He turns to face the door as she changes.

"Ready?" he asks after a minute. He peeks over his shoulder and sees her fully dressed. He's barely turned all the way around when her knees give out. He catches her just in time. "Whoah, okay, okay. Let's get down the hall alright? Then we can sit down."

He's coaching himself as much as her as he lifts her into his arms, carrying her down the hall to their tiny living area. He sits her on the sofa.

"Hey, hey, Hermione?" Harry tucks her long hair away from her face. She's so pale, her breathing getting more rapid with every inhale. "You need to slow it down, okay? You've done this before Hermione, you can do it now."

"Ron?" she chokes out, confused eyes searching Harry's face.

"He's at the shop. He's with George." It's times like this when Harry selfishly wishes Ron would just stay home with them. "Do you want me to floo him?"

"No- no, Harry-"

"I'm right here, Hermione."

Harry's kicking himself. They were supposed to keep her away from what the Healer's had called her triggers. The scar on her arm was definitely a trigger. It suddenly occurs to him the real reason Ron sits outside the bathroom and sings. To distract her from it.

"Hermione, I'm sorry- I'm so sorry, I should have known." Harry let's her grip his hands in hers. "Let me get your potion, alright?"

She nods and releases him hesitantly.

Harry races to the kitchen and pours a cup of the fizzing orange calming potion. He sprints the short distance back to the sofa and helps Hermione guide the cup to her lips. She drinks it in one, shuddering.

"It- it f-feels like she's h-here." Hermione gasps. "Like she's stan-standing over me-"

"But you know she's not." Harry says, guiding her to lay down on the sofa- the potion usually sends her down hard. "Its just you and me here. Breathe, okay? Let the potion work, you'll feel better in a minute."

Harry can tell the very second the potion takes effect. Hermione's rapid breathing stutters to a stop and then picks up at a normal pace. The terrorized look in her eyes fades away leaving just tiredness, her body sinking into the sofa, fingers going limp in Harry's hand.

"You're okay," Harry whispers, more to himself than anything. "You're okay. I'm going to floo Ron-"

"No, Harry don't." Hermione says softly. "George needs him... I'll just take a nap..."

"Okay, okay..." Harry squeezes her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "You want some Sleep Draught?"

He doesn't get an answer though, because Hermione is already asleep. Harry sits by the couch for an hour, waiting to wake her from the inevitable nightmare, but it doesn't come. He gets up and spends the day creeping around the apartment, cleaning and tidying, doing Ron's laundry. He checks in on Hermione every few minutes, once stopping to feel for her pulse, scared by how still she was. He's washing some dishes when Ron comes noisily up the steps and through the kitchen door.

"Hey." Ron claps Harry on the back as he tosses his cloak over a kitchen chair. He looks round. "She's not still in bed, is she?"

Harry dries his hands and turns round to face Ron.

"What? Bad day?"

"I don't know what kind of day this is." Harry says honestly. He quickly runs through the days events for Ron.

"No potion?" Ron says, amazed. "And she's still sleeping?"

Harry nods, silently.

"Blimey, that's..."

"Good, I know." Harry nods, busying himself at the stove. "Sit down, I made soup."

"Soup? You're turning into a regular old housemaid," laughs Ron. "Aren't you, mate?"

"If you don't piss off you can find another housemaid to cook your meals." Harry says hotly, placing two bowls on the table. The two eat quietly. Ron makes easy conversation about the shop; he can tell Harry is still shaken by Hermione's earlier episode.

"What time is it?"

Hermione comes shuffling into the room, Harry's too large sweater pulled close around her. She's put her hair into a bun and a little color has returned to her face.

"Nearly 6." Harry says, glancing at the clock. "Hungry?"

Hermione shrugs and sits down next to Ron who leans over to plant a kiss on her temple.

"Alright, love?" he murmurs, lingering near her face. She nods absently, whispering thanks to Harry as he slides a bowl of soup towards her.

"Bread?" Harry asks. She shakes her head. This is how three of them communicate most days. A series of nods and shakes of the head, significant glances and one word sentences. This has become comfortable, their normal.

Harry and Ron return to their conversation about the shop, and George, watching out of the corner of their eye as Hermione slowly but steadily makes her way through the bowl of soup. They both try to hide their grins when she snags a piece of bread off the plate in the centre of the table, ripping it in half and dipping one corner into her broth. In the end she only finishes a couple bites of the bread before getting up and dumping the leftovers in the rubbish. She places the dishes in the sink and turns to lean against the counter, scratching absently at her scarred arm.

"Oi, don't pick at that." Ron warns, reaching out and snagging her around the waist. He pulls her close and yanks her sleeve down over her arm, covering the word carved into Hermione's skin. Harry has to marvel sometimes at how their roles have nearly reversed- how it's Ron's job to be logical now, to take control, while Hermione is passive and slightly oblivious. He knows it makes Ron uneasy to handle her this way, but he puts out a confident front for her.

"Game of chess, Ron?" Harry asks breezily. Rod nods. Hermione fetches the board for them and they all seat themselves on the tiny living room floor. They play a lot of chess now; something to keep Hermione busy with so she won't go back to bed. She doesn't play, just sits by Ron and observes. This is one of few things he's better than her at, she likes to have Ron teach her. An hour passes and Ron's won his third game.

"See? I told you he shouldn't have done that!" Ron says excitably to Hermione as his Queen beats Harry's King to prices with it's own crown. Hermione smiles and plants a kiss on his cheek. Ron looks shocked, ears reddening.

Harry's not really sure where they're at right now, Ron and Hermione. Hermione had never been shy with touch when it came to Harry; she often leaned her head on his shoulder or her feet in his lap on a sofa, grasped his hand during intense conversation. She had always held back when it came to Ron though, an obvious tension in the air. She's far more open with him now, holding hands a lot, often curling up on his lap for comfort. Ron is generous with kisses to her cheeks and forehead, and terms of endearment like _love_ and _darling_ that make Harry want to vomit when he hears them come from Ron's mouth. And though she doesn't often return them openly, Hermione doesn't seem to mind his newfound tenderness. Harry had assumed their bed sharing to be an obvious sign of something more than friendship, until Ron left early one morning and Harry awoke to find Hermione curled like a kitten beside him in his bed, her head against his back. Though they're relationship dynamic has obvious changed, Ron had admitted they hadn't actually kissed since that heated moment in the midst of battle.

"I think I'll head to bed." Hermione says softly. Ron looks disappointed.

"You slept the whole day, 'Mines." he points out. Harry grins to himself when he hears the nickname. It's been a while; it was something they used teasingly back in Second Year.

"Don't call me that, Ronald." she snaps, in true Hermione form. Ron beams.

"Thas my girl." Ron laughs, squeezing her hand as she lifts herself off the floor. Hermione shakes herself free of his grip. She runs a hand over the top of Harry's head as she passes by.

"Night, Harry."

"G'night, 'Mines."

She scowls but as she turns for the hallway Harry swears he sees her smile.

* * *

**A/N: Hermione's struggles in this chapter are based on research, written accounts of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and my own experiences with Depression and Anxiety. If anyone sees any major errors though, or can offer feedback on how this would translate in the Wizarding World, please feel free to review.**

**EDIT: It was brought to my attention in a review that Hermione having the word 'Mudblood' carved into her arm was a scene from the movie, and not a piece of canon from the novels. I was aware of this but decided to use it anyways. In my opinion it was the most haunting scene in any of the films, and those added movie moments are done so well and are so in tune with JKR's characters, there is no reason not to include them in what we call "canon". **


	5. All That You Are

**Chapter Five / For All That You Are**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. six weeks after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, Ginny considers her future.**

**

* * *

**

_You've already won me over,  
__in spite of me._

_And don't be alarmed if I fall,  
__head over feet._

_And don't be surprised if I love you,  
__for all that you are._

_I couldn't help it,  
__it's all your fault._

**_-Head Over Feet, by Alanis Morissette  
_**

**_

* * *

_**

Ginny Weasley had never truly enjoyed school. Little effort and natural cleverness had carried her through 6 years at Hogwarts with decent enough marks to pacify her mother; homework and books were never Ginny's strong point, she wasn't Hermione after all. When her mother brought this point against her, Ginny would blame her lack of interest on growing up with 6 older brothers. Her mother would always point out Percy's academia. Ginny would mention Percy's stuffiness. This often led to an argument.

It's one of these arguments that has Ginny spending the night on the trio's sofa. Harry wakes her in the morning with a kiss and breakfast, and they sit cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other, knees pressed together and a single plate balanced between them.

"She's my mum, and I love her, but she's just _unbearable_ sometimes." Ginny says, tearing into a slice of toast as if it were a mortal enemy. "I can't believe she expects me to go back to _school_."

"Well, I suppose she's got her reasons, doesn't she?" Harry dips a slice of bacon in ketchup and pops it in his mouth. "Everything's all over now, no reason not to finish your education."

"That's rich." Ginny snorts, rolling her eyes. "You lot are all cozied up here, you don't plan on going back, do you?"

"Gin, that's different-"

"_How_?" Ginny exclaims, throwing her toast into Harry's lap and standing up. "Everyone keeps saying that! '_That's different, Ginny. They've been through a lot, Ginny. Things have to go back to normal, Ginny!'_"

Ginny paces around the small coffee table, turning her back to the fireplace to face Harry from across the room, tears in her eyes.

"No one's pushing George to move back into his flat. No one expects him to go back to normal. Like he had some sort of claim over Fred because they're twins. He was my brother too! And everyone just expects me to go back to _school_ and sit in Charms, just down the hall from where he died!"

"You're right." Harry says honestly, setting down their plate and striding across the room to meet her. "I'm sorry, you're right."

"I lost them too, Harry." She whispers, a single tear trailing across her face for a second before she swipes it away. "I just can't stand the thought of going back there, of going to Defense and thinking of Lupin. I don't want to graduate if Fred's not there to make fun of how stupid my dress robes look."

"Then don't go back, Ginny." Harry wraps his arms around her waist, resting his forehead on hers. "Tell your Mum exactly what you've just told me, she'll understand."

Ginny just nods, reaching up to lightly trace a finger over the scar on his forehead.

"I knew you- of all people- would understand."

"What brought this on, anyways?" Harry asks, curiously, sweeping her fringe out of her eyes. "It's months before school…"

"I got a letter." Ginny says, her eyes lighting up. "From the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies. One of their scouts saw me play last year. They need a new seeker, see-"

"Ginny, that's fantastic!" Harry cries, hugging her. "Well done!"

"Nothings set in stone yet," Ginny says hastily. She bows her head a little, her ears pinking a little as Ron's did when he was pleased with himself. Harry hasn't seen her bashful like this since she was a small girl sending him valentines in 2nd year; the sight fills him with pride and makes him a bit giddy. "But they've asked me to come out and train with them, see how I get on with the team."

Ginny peeks at him through her fringe, her eyes darkening.

"They're based in Ireland. I'd have to move out there to train, and if I make the team there's loads of traveling." she says, "I know we're just getting around to sorting us out, but-"

"Go." Harry says firmly. "You've got to go, Ginny. I left you here and went all about the country picking up bits of Voldemort's soul. You didn't know if I was dead or alive and you waited. I can wait for you."

"That's really very sweet, you know." Ginny smiles coyly. "Likening your extravagant mission to my playing Quidditch."

"You've got your passion," Harry shrugs, holding back a smirk. "I've got mine."

Ginny smiles and considers him for a moment. Her eyes get that fierce look in them and her face hardens a little.

"I think I might love you, Harry Potter." She says seriously.

Harry thinks his heart may give out, right then, it's pounding so hard. He doesn't respond, doesn't trust his tongue to work properly right now. He just pushes her back against the brick of the fireplace and kisses her passionately. She's got her fingers in his hair, her body pressed against him, and he thinks the smell of her is so intoxicating it may kill him when-

"Oi! Not in my sitting room, Potter!"

Harry tears himself from Ginny to turn and glare at Ron.

"Need I remind you who's paying the rent, Weasley?"

"Well it's the principle of the thing, isn't it?" Ron asks, flustered, ears red. "At least wait till I've left!"

"We'll finish this later, yeah?" Ginny says, pecking Harry on the cheek and moving around him to collect he things. "I should get back and make peace with Mum."

Harry stands and watches her leave. He thinks in that moment that he's truly fallen in love with Ginny Weasley.

He's also thinking of how to best murder Ron.

* * *

**A/N: A shorter tidbit today, Happy Christmas everyone!**

** Ginny is a difficulty for me. Her character is very strong and grounded and I really had a hard time putting that into this, hopefully I did alright. In case anyone didn't know, according to JKR, Ginny did go on to play for the Harpies. More to come soon, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed already… Everyone else, don't be shy, I don't bite! **


	6. Right Down The Line

**Chapter Six / Right Down The Line (It's Been You And Me)**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. two months after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, Ron finally makes his move.**

**

* * *

**_They say that the road ain't no place to start a family,  
right down the line it's been you and me._

_And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be,  
__oh, girl, you stand by me.  
_

_I'm forever yours,  
__faithfully._

**_Faithfully, by Journey_**

**_

* * *

_**

When Hermione leaves for Australia, Harry gives her an owl. The night before her departure he goes down to the Alley, and returns, massive cage in hand. Inside of it, a large jet-black bird slept, its head under its wing.

"Finally caved, did you mate?" Ron asked, sympathetically. Hermione had suggested more than once that Harry get a new owl, but Harry just couldn't stand the thought of replacing Hedwig, and refused to even visit the Apothecary.

"Not exactly." Harry set the bird on the kitchen table and shrugged off his cloak. "For Hermione, you know? Pigwidgeon's a bit small to journey to Australia, and what if she needs us for… something?"

"Fair point." Ron nodded, sticking his finger through the bars of the cage to pet the bird. He sighed and slumped backward in his chair. "I can't believe she's going alone. She's barely just started to come 'round."

"She'll be fine." Harry said, patting his friend lightly on the shoulder as he picked up the cage once more. "She in your room?"

"Hers." Ron said shortly, ears going pink. "Says she wants to get used to sleeping alone. "

Harry hummed sympathetically, making his way past Ron and to the room at the end of the hall. He knocked softly and a moment later was rewarded with Hermione's call.

"Come in!"

"Hey," Harry slid into the room, awkwardly holding the cage out, an uncertain look on his face. Hermione looked up from the pile of half folded clothes on her bed and smiled.

"You finally got one?" she asked, sweeping a loose curl behind her ear and stepping around the bed towards Harry.

"Nope. He's yours." Harry said, grinning sheepishly. Hermione's eye's suddenly looked accusing.

"Ron's way of keeping tabs on me?" Hermione asked darkly. "Making sure I haven't gone mad again-"

"No! Not at all!" Harry suddenly felt very silly. "Ron had no idea-I just, I thought if you had your own you could owl us, not the other way 'round…"

Hermione remained silent, her fingers brushing the bars of the cage. The owl lifted his head, bright yellow eyes blinking up at her.

"I- uh, took the liberty of naming him." Harry said, awkwardly, placing the cage on top of Hermione's dresser so the owl was at eye level with them. "Hemingway. I know you're a fan… I thought it was fitting."

Hemingway hooted softly, gently nipping at Hermione's pinky through the bars. Hermione smiled, eyes sparkling with tears.

"It's perfect." She whispered, turning to give Harry a hug. "He's gorgeous, Harry, thank you. I- I didn't mean to seem so ungrateful-"

"It's fine." Harry said, squeezing her shoulders. "All packed?"

"Nearly." Hermione said, turning back to her bed and grabbing a pair of socks. "I have to admit, I think I'll find it comforting to go back to living out of a bag again. It still feels strange to have things packed away in the wardrobe."

"Maybe _that's_ why Ron keeps his things on the floor!" Harry said, with mock realization. Hermione shook her head, a tiny chuckle escaping her.

"I'm glad you've gotten a bit tidier, Harry." She chided. "Merlin knows the mess I'd be coming back to otherwise."

"I'll take care of Ron, don't worry." Harry said seriously. Their eyes meet and Hermione knows he's talking about more than just laundry.

"I know that." Hermione rolls the folded socks between her hands nervously. She bit her lip and considered Harry for a moment before finally speaking. "He offered to come with me. I turned him down… you know, because of George."

Her cheeks turned pink and she avoided Harry's gaze.

"We both know this isn't about George, Hermione. George has plenty of people to help out, he could spare Ron for a while." Harry sighed, sitting on the edge of Hermione's neatly made bed. "This is about you and Ron, whatever you two are…"

Hermione met Harry's gaze again and sighed, her face flushing completely now.

"To be honest Harry, I don't know what we are." Hermione threw the socks onto the laundry pile and climbed onto the bed. Lying on her stomach, she rested her head on her folded arms next to Harry, both of them gazing absently at the owl on the dresser. "I'm not sure where we stand."

"I reckon he'll stand wherever you'd like him to." Harry said, slightly bemused.

Hermione sighed heavily, leaning her head against Harry's leg.

"I know he doesn't want me to go yet, but it's already been so long. What if I can't reverse it? What if they don't remember?"

"I don't think you need to worry about that." Harry said gently. "But if you need us, for _any_ reason, you let us know. We'll be there straight away, no questions."

"I know."

Hemingway hooted rather woefully towards them, ruffling his feathers and turning away, as if angry that they'd disturbed his sleep.

"I'm going to miss having you around all day." Harry admitted, tugging playfully on Hermione's ponytail. "It's been so long since we've been apart."

Hermione didn't say anything but Harry felt a wet spot growing on his left knee.

"It's not too late to change your mind." Harry said to her, laying his hand on top of her head. "All three of us can pack up the tent and camp our way down."

"No." Hermione said, voice thick. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her jumper and then put her hand on top of her head clumsily, clutching Harry's. "I need to do this alone, Harry. You understand?"

"'Course." Harry stood, giving Hermione's hair a final ruffle. "It's Ron you've got to explain it to… Supper at The Burrow in an hour, remember. You'd best get your packing done."

And with that, he slipped out of the room, leaving Hermione with only Hemingway for company.

That week's gathering at The Burrow was slightly subdued. After supper Harry and Ginny disappeared out into the garden, and Ron grudgingly agreed to help his father rearrange the shed. George sat at one end of the table with Charlie, who was speaking in low tones, a sympathetic look in his eyes. It was not only Hermione's last night in Britain for a while, but Charlie's as well. After a solid two months at The Burrow he was finally heading back to Romania, something George was less than content with.

"I can portkey in on weekends," Hermione heard Charlie say as she reached around George to clear their pudding dishes. "If you need a hand 'round shop?"

"It's fine, Char." George shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. He'd taken to keeping it long these days, to cover the hole where his ear should have been. "Ron's good help."

"It wouldn't hurt for you to owl Lee back either." Charlie said, nodding thanks to Hermione as she took his cutlery. "He's been sending three a week trying to get a hold of you. The last one blew up, nearly set Mum's curtains on fire."

"If I owl him, I'll have to owl Angelina." George muttered, shaking his head.

"That wouldn't be such a crime, George Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, shaking a dishcloth in his direction. "Your brother cared for that girl, she'd take some comfort from seeing you-"

"So she can pretend I'm him?" George spat loudly. Charlie, who had been moving to lay a hand on George's shoulder, froze in mid movement, while Mrs. Weasley wrung out the dishcloth nervously. "She barely spoke to me when Fred was alive, and now suddenly she's on me like Death Eaters on a Mudblood-"

"GEORGE WEASLEY!" Mrs. Weasley threw down her dishcloth and glared at her son. "We do _not_ use that word in this house."

"I know, I know," George said hurriedly, having the decency to look ashamed. He turned around in his chair to face Hermione who stood near the sink, a short stack of plates in her hands. "Hermione- I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." Hermione said quickly. She forced a smile, trying to convince everyone that she was alright, but the plates rattling in her shaking hands gave her away. She quickly placed the plates in the sink, her eyes catching on the edge of the pink scar peeking past her rolled up sleeve. "I should- Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry, would you excuse me?"

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Weasley said kindly, eyeing her son menacingly.

Hermione turned and fled from the kitchen, nearly running into Ron who was coming in from the yard.

"Oi, what- _Hermione_?" Ron turned in the doorway, reaching for her arm, but she shook him off and kept going. A moment later the back door slammed. Ron looked 'round, past his mother who was angrily scrubbing dishes, to his brothers at the table. "What happened?"

"I- I wasn't thinking, Ron-" George said guiltily. "That was totally on me, mate."

"What did you _do_?" Ron asked angrily, hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Oi, who opened their big mouth and set her off?" Ginny came into the kitchen, looking concerned, with Harry hot on her heels. Ron turned around to look questioningly at Harry who just nodded grimly.

"Maybe I should-" George made to stand up.

"_You've_ done enough." Ron spat, harshly. George stared at his lap, looking miserable. Ron turned away from his brothers and moved towards Harry.

"She's down by the pond." Harry said quietly. "She wouldn't even look at me…"

This made them both anxious. At times, Hermione avoided Ron when upset, but never had she shied away from Harry. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and took off out the door and across the yard. He jogged down the back of the property; coming to a halt a hundred yards behind her where she sat by the pond, chin on her knees. Ron made his way forward more slowly, finally coming to a stop, crouching next to her. He glanced sideways at her and was relieved to find that at least she wasn't crying this time.

"If you want, I could punch him?" Ron said finally, when the silence between them became to heavy for him to stand any longer. Hermione made a disapproving noise with her tongue.

"Don't you dare, he didn't mean anything by it." She said half-heartedly. She turned and met his eyes for a moment and then lifted a finger to run across his jaw. "You need a shave."

Ron's ears went blood red and he ducked his head with a sheepish smile. Hermione went pink as well, looking out over the pond again. No matter how many times he held her as she cried, or how many nights they spent curled in each other's arms, it always came back to this: awkward and blushing like children. Ron wasn't sure if that was ever going to change. She was leaving for Australia the next day, would be gone for weeks, months maybe. It was truly now or never, in his eyes.

"Hermione-"

"I know." She smiled up at him, eyes shining.

"Er. What?" Ron blinked.

"I know what you're going to say." She said, chuckling softly. "But by all means, continue. I'd love to hear you say it."

"Well, you've bloody well ruined the moment now." Ron grumbled, throwing his legs out in front of him, getting comfortable next to her. She curled her arm around his, his giant hand clasped around her dainty fingers. She rested her chin on her knee, looking up at him, waiting. "I just- I want you to know this before you leave-"

"I am coming back, you know." She said, gently. "There's no need for any hurried confessions."

"That's just it, this isn't hurried, Hermione." Ron shook his head. "I've kept my mouth shut long enough. Everything that's happened, I mean we could have died- and I'd never have said it-"

Ron clamped his mouth shut, closing his eyes for a moment, regaining his own composure. Hermione waited patiently.

"Look. You know I love you, that's no secret. I know I'm not big on words and whatnot, but you and Harry are my best friends, and I don't know what I'd do without either of you." Ron was sure his ears were blood red at this point, but Hermione wasn't laughing at him yet, so he plowed on. He didn't look at her though, just continued to be very focused on his left shoe. "But, _this_, whatever this is between us, this is more, Hermione. I- I want-"

Ron looked up from his shoe and met her warm eyes.

"I _need_ this to be more."

Hermione just nodded.

"Okay."

Ron shook his head a little, trying to comprehend what she just said.

"O-_okay_?"

"Yes." Hermione blushed, leaning towards him a little. "I feel the same way, Ron. I always have. It's always been you and me."

"_Thank Merlin_." Ron let out a breath and pulled her into his lap, kissing her eagerly, tangling his fingers in her thick curls.

"We should probably get back inside." Hermione said a few moments later, between hurried kisses and heavy breaths.

"Yeah, 'course." Ron nodded, pressing his forehead against hers. "I bet Harry's worried…"

An hour later, when the sun set over The Burrow, the two still hadn't moved.

* * *

**A/N: This was probably my favorite bit to write so far. I love playing with Ron's character. He's so strong and silent, and stubbornly set in his ways, but still awkward and shy, and deeply family oriented. I love writing him.**

** The lyrics I've provided at the beginnings of each chapter are my inspiration, not necessarily for that specific chapter, but for this story as a whole. I highly recommend you check out the songs, and the artists who wrote them, as they go hand in hand with these stories. **


	7. Or Am I A Fool

**Chapter Seven / Or Am I A Fool?**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. two months after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, Ron deals with Hermione's absence. Sort of.**

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* * *

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_At night when the stars light up my room,_  
_I sit by myself._

_Talkin' to the moon,_  
_tryin' to get to you._

_In hopes you're on the other side,_  
_talkin' to me too._

_Or am I fool,_  
_who sits alone,_

_Talkin' to the moon. _

**_-Talkin' To The Moon, _by Bruno Mars**

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* * *

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Hermione leaves for Australia on a Monday. Ron fucking hates Mondays.

She rises just before dawn, and wakes both Harry and Ron. The three move about the small flat, half asleep and in silence, sipping tea and pulling on sneakers, stacking Hermione's luggage near the door.

The airport is bustling. Hermione's flight is delayed, so they check her bags and sit with coffee, Hermione explaining the various aspects of airline travel to Ron, who looks less than delighted with the whole arrangement.

"Doesn't seem very safe though, does it?" he asks nervously at one point, eyeing a plane take off through the airport's large windows. "I mean, what's to keep it from falling out of the sky, heavy thing like that?"

"Never happened." Hermione says quickly, looking pointedly at Harry. When Ron turns 'round for conformation, Harry nods earnestly and says, "Never. Harmless way to travel."

He winks at Hermione who smiles appreciatively.

The longer they sit there, the more anxious Ron seems to get. He's clutching Hermione's hand with his left, his right wrapped around his coffee cup, crushing the paper sleeve. Under the small table Ron's foot bounces up and down nervously. By the time Hermione's flight is called for boarding, he's trembling. Hermione's eyes fill with tears, but she gives no other indication that she's heard the announcement. For a instant, Ron seriously considers letting her miss her flight, taking her back to their little home and never letting her out of his sight again. Instead, he kicks Harry under the table.

Harry jumps up, and offers a hand to Hermione. She takes it, her other hand clutching Ron's more forcefully. They walk her to the gate, and when he can't stall any longer, Ron drops her hand and pushes her lightly towards their best friend. Harry hugs her quickly but tightly. He smiles at her before kissing her cheek and stepping away, pretending to be engrossed in the nearest Arrivals/Departures board. Ron steps into Harry's place, reaching into his pocket. He pulls something out and places it determinedly in Hermione's hand, wrapping her fingers around it.

"I want you to take this with you." He says, almost inaudible. Hermione opens her hand to reveal the Deluminator lying in her palm. Ron smiles sheepishly. "It helped me feel close to you, when I needed to… Maybe it can do the same for you."

Hermione kisses him forcefully before wrapping her arms around him.

"You've got your potions?" Ron asks. Hermione nods against his neck. They pull apart, Ron tracing a finger down the side of her face. "_Please,_ take care of yourself, Hermione."

"Don't _worry _so much." Hermione chides, teasingly through her tears. "You're turning into you're mother, Ronald Weasley!"

They both laugh tearfully.

"I'll see you soon." She says faintly. Her voice lilts of a bit, as if it's a question.

"Absolutely." Ron nods.

They kiss once more, and Ron tries to relish it. Memorize it. He wants to be able to remember what this feels like when she's gone.

"Soon," he says, voice uneven. He pulls away halfhearted. "Really soon."

He waves foolishly as she walks away towards the gate. Harry's arm snakes around his shoulders. As the flight attendant takes Hermione's ticket she turns to smile bravely at the both of them.

"She'll be alright." Harry says. Ron just nods. He's always loathed Mondays, but this one definitely takes the cake.

* * *

On Tuesday, without Hermione to wake him, he sleeps in.

He wakes, an hour later than he should have, with Pigwidgeon pecking at his face.

"I'm up, alright?" Ron blearily bats the bird away, grabbing the miniature scroll of parchment it carried. As he unrolled it, a puff of dazzling orange, fetid smelling smoke erupts from the scroll. Coughing, and waving a hand through the smoke, he curses loudly. A less than eloquently written sentiment is printed boldly across the parchment in George's messy scrawl.

STOP SULKING AND GET DOWN HERE. HERMIONE DOESN'T DATE SLACKERS, GIT. BRING OTHER SULKER TOO; GOLDEN BOY IS GOOD FOR BUSINESS.

Ron groans, rolling out of bed and reaching for a set of robes from the not-so-neat heap at the foot of the bed. He dresses clumsily, throws half a bag of owl treats at a piqued Pigwidgeon and shuffles across the corridor to Harry's room. Ron's best friend is dead to the world, dark hair sticking up violently all over the pillow. Ron tries not to laugh when he sees Crookshanks tucked in a ball near Harry's hip, taking shelter after Ron had kicked him out of his bed the night before. Harry has a slight frown on his face, brow furrowed, and his right arm is flung out over the bed, inches from the wand on the bedside table. He refused to sleep defenseless. When Ron woke one morning to find Hermione had locked herself in the bathroom, he had woken Harry with little sympathy and a stern poke to the chest. The redhead ended up flat on his back with a black eye and a wand at his throat. He only made that mistake once.

Ron creeps around the bed and noiselessly slides the wand out of Harry's reach. He watches his friend for a moment. Harry hisses in his sleep, hand coming up to rub at his scar. Harry admitted to Ron that he felt the phantom pain of his scar in his dreams; nightmares where things don't turn out nearly as well, where Voldemort is triumphant, Ron and Hermione laying bloody at his feet. More than once Ron has woken to the soft click of his bedroom door closing, Harry having just snuck in to reassure himself of his friends' safety. Incapable of watching his friend suffer any longer, Ron reaches out and gently shakes Harry's shoulder. Harry's response is instantaneous: his whole body tenses up, hand grabbing for the absent wand as his eyes fly open. It takes him a moment, but when he sees that there's no threat, just Ron, he sinks back towards his pillow, eyelids heavy.

"Alright, mate?" Ron asks. He squeezes Harry's shoulder. Harry nods sluggishly, opening one eye to glare at Ron who claps him on the shoulder apologetically. "Sorry, would have left you to sleep… but George wants us down at the shop."

"Whass' he wan' me for?" Harry slurs, sitting up and taking the glasses Ron holds out. He jams them onto his face, crooked. His hair is sticking up at all ends.

"'Dunno. Stand around, look famous?" says Ron. He knows better. Harry's been so busy with Hermione these past weeks; he's barely had a chance to be alone, let alone sulk and brew. George and Ron would like to keep it that way. "C'mon, mate. It's better than sitting here alone all day."

"S'pose." Harry runs a hand through his unruly hair. This doesn't help the situation.

"You should shower first." Ron says frankly, tugging harshly on Harry's hair. "Comb that mop, would you? It'll make business bad."

Ron leaves the disheveled Harry to tidy himself and heads out. He enjoys this short walk, early every morning. The suns just coming up, and it's as if Diagon Alley is waking up with it. He descends the rickety steps down the side of their building. At the bottom he pauses to wave through the window at Mrs. Poppitch, the owner of the tiny bookstore beneath their apartment. Penny Poppitch is a tiny little woman, a widow with silver hair and shining blue eyes. Kind and loving, she reminds Ron of his own mother, and she dotes on Hermione. The trio is quite fond of her. The Alley is quiet as Ron makes his way down to Weazley's Wizarding Wheezes. It's peaceful in a way he never experienced when coming here to shop for school and certainly not during the war. The shops are just getting ready to open, and there is a slow trickle of wizards arriving, making there way down the cobbled street to their places of business. The shop isn't open yet and Ron's forgotten his key, so he scoots around the side of the corner building and takes the stairs two at a time, at the top letting himself into George's apartment.

The apartment is much tidier than one would assume of the Weasley twins. The small kitchenette is spotless, except for the vibrant orange and purple boxes of extra inventory stacked next to the refrigerator. The cozy sitting area shows a few signs of life: papers scattered over the desk, a quill tossed on top. The sofa has a blanket crumpled on it. This is where George sleeps now. In the bedroom, George and Fred's single beds sit exactly the way they were left the morning of the battle: George's haphazardly made, and Fred's sheets still a mess. George won't sleep in there alone, can't stand to alter Fred's bed, move it or even look at it. So the door remains closed, and George sleeps on the couch, in spite of Hermione's several requests to come down to their apartment and take her bed.

"Oh good, you're here." George's voice is strained as he comes around the corner out of the bathroom, he's only half dressed, and he's pressing a wet cloth to his eyes, face pinched.

"Mate, you should get that checked." Ron motions towards His brother's head. George had been prone to headaches in the last couple months, and Ron had prodded him to go to the hospital, worried about residual affects from the battle but George had vehemently refused.

"Naw, I'ss goin' away." George tosses the cloth back into the bathroom and faces Ron. He waves towards the desk, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Can you look at the books? I can't get them to... You know- balance."

Ron picks up the long piece of parchment, covered in numbers and charts, George's scrawl in the margins. Ron's a bit sharp when it comes to maths, and spots the problem immediately- Hermione would be surprised, he thinks, as he crosses out a number and moves it across the page. He holds the sheet up to George, pointing with the quill.

"These Galleons are profit, not expense." He says, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh bugger off." George exclaimed, annoyed. "We used to do that together- Fred's better at- he was-"

"It's fine." Ron says, quickly. He's hit a nerve. "I can help. Harry's on his way up, we can make him do the inventory and I'll fix this up."

"Anything to get you out of doing it, eh bro?" George snorts, pulling his vivid pink robes over his head.

"Hey! I've been at you to get Lee back around. We could use the help." Ron points the quill menacingly across the room. "I was up to my arse in Fainting Fancys for _four_ bloody hours last week!"

"Yeah, yeah." George runs a hand through his increasingly long hair, parting a section to cover his missing ear. "I've been thinking about it. Might go 'round and see him tomorrow. Angelina sent another owl yesterday... Maybe he can get her off my back before she fucking shows up here."

"You know, maybe you should write her back, mate." Ron suggests nervously. "Fred would have wanted-"

"_Don't_." George drops the shoe he's about to put on and straightens up abruptly. "Don't talk like you knew him better, like you know what he would have wanted_. I_ don't even know where he stood with her, _you_ sure as fuck don't. Don't you think if I knew- if I knew what-"

George sticks his fingers against his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Whether it's against tears or the pain of a headache, Ron isn't sure.

"George-" Ron steps forward awkwardly, hand coming to hover just over his brother's shoulder, afraid of what may happen if he makes contact. "I didn't mean-"

"If I knew what he wanted me to say to say to her, I would have done it already, alright?" George makes it clear with his tone that this conversation is over. He swipes a hand down his face and grabs his shoe, shuffling out of Ron's grasp. If there had been tears, Ron would never have seen them.

Ron feels useless. In that moment, he really misses Hermione. She was always a comforter; she would know what to say, to him, to George. She'd know how to fix the inventory, balance the books and make George laugh all in one. The dull ache that's taken up presence in Ron's chest since he watched her board the plane grows just a little bit more.

* * *

A small cauldron explosion at the shop sends Ron and Harry home after dark, both covered in a thick coating of electric blue slime. Harry is very grumpy about this so Ron graciously allows him first shower. When he's finally de-slimed, Ron throws on a pair of sleep pants and digs out a bottle of Firewhiskey. He downs a half a dozen swigs from the bottle and then pours himself a generous glass. He pads around the apartment in his bare feet, sticking his head out the windows, hoping to catch sight of a large black bird. Harry catches him an hour later with his elbows on the front windowsill, gazing out over the alley, nearly empty glass balanced between his fingers.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, in a tone that says he already knows exactly what Ron is up to. "It's barely been a day... It takes nearly that long to get there. Give her a chance to settle..."

Ron just nods, swallows the lump in his throat. He won't turn around, won't show Harry the tears gathering in his eyes, or how his hands tremble against the glass he's clutching. He honestly doesn't know what's gotten into him. Harry's right- it's not even been two days since she left. But already it's as if someone's torn out a part of his soul, a gaping hole left in his chest. He wonders for a split second if this is how Voldemort felt, missing bits of himself. His hearts been hammering since she got on the plane, a constant uncomfortable flutter, a mirror of the panic he's sure Hermione must be feeling, wherever she is. And when he thinks about her, anxious and afraid, unable to sleep alone, he loses it entirely. The glass of whiskey hits the windowsill with a dull clunk and a splash, which must be Harry's cue, because when Ron's knees give out, his best mate is already behind him, grabbing him round the shoulders with a firm arm.

"Ron? Merlin- here, down."

Ron feels himself being clumsily lowered, vision swimming, and when he refocuses, he's arse on the rug, with his back against the bookshelf. Harry's cross-legged in front of him, their knees all crushed together, Harry's hands on him, one grasping his left elbow, the other near his right ear, fingers pressed against his neck. He can feel his pulse pounding against Harry's fingers; he knows he's been found out. Harry doesn't say anything, just stares at him, his face halfway between concerned torment and bemused bewilderment. Ron's not sure which is worse. He sits there, on the floor in Harry's grasp, breathing raggedly and trembling. He can't shake the image of Hermione walking away from him, of the plane taking off. Nearly everything he cared for, the fractured person he'd worked desperately to piece back together, flying away from him in giant tin can.

"We put her on an aero plane." Ron says, meeting Harry's eyes doggedly. This thought has only just occurred to him, and it tears at his heart all over again. "She's scared to fly. She doesn't even like brooms, and we threw her on a great bloody plane."

A little color drains from Harry's face and Ron knows he didn't think of it either.

"Plane was her idea." Harry says firmly, fingers tightening on Ron's elbow and flicking inattentively at the edge of his hair. "She could have portkeyed. She was fine with it."

"What have I done, Harry?" Ron asks dejectedly, grasping Harry wrist, hanging off the sleeve of his jumper. "She's left me. I just got her and I've already made a muck of things."

Harry looks like he might laugh.

"You daft git!" he cries. "She hasn't left anyone."

"Oh just you wait. She's not coming back." Ron is morose, extravagant and far-fetched images forming in his mind. It must be the Firewhiskey. "She's going to cozy up in Australia, it's beautiful there. Girls like pretty stuff. She'll find someone who makes more money, who drinks wine. They'll get a pet Kangaroo-"

Harry topples over, head smashing into Ron's shoulder, howling with laughter. For a moment Ron thinks he's in 2nd Year all over again, lying on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, hyped up on chocolate frogs, carefree and innocent, before there were horcruxes to find, before their lives rested in his best friends hands, before his whole world revolved around Hermione Granger.

"Are you mad?" Harry gasps, finally straightening up, still grinning ear to ear. "Do you hear yourself? How drunk are you? Hermione doesn't drink wine!"

They both crack up at this, Ron feeling strangely lightheaded.

"What have you done with that bottle?" Harry asks, untangling himself from Ron, still chuckling. Ron waves in the direction of the kitchen. Harry returns a moment later, bottle in one hand, a small brown envelope in the other. "You know I've never been drunk? All this saving the world business and whatnot but I've never been drunk."

"My god." Ron's mouth falls open in horror. "Me neither!"

"Well. Perfect time, yeah?" Harry takes a mouthful from the bottle and hands it off to Ron. "You could use a pick me up."

"Whass' in there?" Rob asks, tugging the envelope free of Harry's fingers and pulling it open. Several Wizarding photographs fell into his lap. They all pictured a bumbling baby boy, crawling along a carpeted floor, brown hair curling at his forehead.

"Teddy. Andromeda caught him when he hadn't changed the color of anything."

"Merlin." Ron whispers, holding the photo at arms length and squinting. "He looks just like Remus, don't he?"

Harry nods soberly.

"Andromeda's tuckered out chasing him 'round all the time. We talked about me taking him every other weekend. Could be interesting." Harry takes the topmost photo off the stack and sticks it up against a stack of books on the sofa table, smiling fondly. Then he turns back to Ron. "Alright. Your turn."

"Huh?" Ron puts down the photograph he's been examining and looks up confused. "What are you on about?"

"You and Hermione." Harry states impatiently. "I fancy myself responsible for you two having met to begin with. I think I deserve an update."

Ron's ears turn pink and he picks at a loose thread in the rug for a moment. He clears his throat.

"I snogged her. Back home, by the pond." he says it in an offhand way, likes it's no big deal. But Harry knows better. Knows that inside Ron is swelling with pride over this triumph.

"Good on ya, mate!" Harry makes a show of clapping him on the back and hands him the Firewhiskey again. Ron grins sheepishly, but it's short lived. He stares miserably into the depths of the half empty bottle, his thoughts murky. Harry's learned over the years to let Ron work through his emotions himself, so he waits. Trying to force conversation on Ron when he was upset or angry was like taming a wild Hippogriff: dangerous and unlikely to succeed. Leave him be, let him work himself up and then calm himself down and come to you. After a good ten minutes silence, Ron speaks.

"I'm fucking terrified, Harry." Ron puts the bottle down and forces his trembling hands to fist together. He averts his eyes from Harry's gaze, staring absentminded at the photo framed over the couch. Ginny had brought it to them, one of the many found among Colin Creevy's collection in his Hogwarts dormitory. Out of all of Colin's candid snaps, this was one of only a few they had posed for. The four of them were grinning brightly in the sun outside the castle, Colin had caught them on a mid afternoon walk. Ginny is piggyback style on Harry's back, her chin resting on the top of his head, her hand reaches out to grab Ron's shoulder for balance as Harry laughs and deliberately jostles her. Hermione is a few steps off, lauding at them, and Ron watches as photo-him loops an arm around her neck and gently tugs her into centre frame. She laughs and playfully shoves him off, forcing herself between Ron and Harry to loop arms with both of them.

"Hey. Ron, I'm your best mate." Harry scoots over, blocking Ron's view of the photo. With the true topic at hand so close out in the open, Harry feels comfortable giving a little prodding. "Tell me what's going on in that thick skull of yours.

"She's just- it's so-"

"Breathe." Harry says patiently. Ron obeys: heaves a shuddering breath and scrubs at his wet eyes with the back of his wrist

"What if she's not _Hermione_ anymore?" Ron says shakily, eyes wide. "It's like something's broken inside her, and we don't know how to fix it, how to get her back. What if she never goes back to how she was before?"

"Are you going to love her any less?" Harry asks.

"I- what? What makes you think-" Ron says awkwardly, blushing.

"Mate, I knew you were in love with her before _you_ knew."

Ron buries his face in his hands.

"She's changed, so what? We all have." Harry grasps Ron's shoulder and forces him to meet his gaze. Ron does so, eyes full of tears. "Do you love her any less for it?"

"Don't be stupid." Ron spits, angrily. "'Course not-"

"Then don't be so scared." Harry says confidently. "We fought a war. We're not walking away from all ok. Neither is she. And that's fine. She's _alive_, Ron. This could have been so much worse."

Ron puts his face back in his hands. His shoulders are shaking now, choked sobs escaping him. Harry stays close. He'd been expecting this. Ron's stayed so level through everything, not even his temper getting out of hand, the family man inside of him has made his appearance. Ron runs the shop single handedly on days when George won't get out of bed, spends his nights comforting Hermione, waking Harry from his nightmares, traveling to the Burrow several times a week to spend time with his parents and Ginny. While the rest of them have all had their fair share of breakdowns, this is the first time Harry's seen Ron truly just lose it since they left the castle 2 months earlier.

"I'm not doing enough- I should be doing more. You're here with her all day-"

"Stop it." Harry says sternly and suddenly. "Just stop it. I don't want to hear that sort of rubbish."

Ron sniffs noisily, not bothering to try to hide the tears streaming down his face. Harry has shuffled around closer to him and is rubbing his back. They're pretty touchy to begin with- Ron and Harry, but alcohol and tears turn them into complete girls.

"I sit here all day and feel useless. I don't know what to do like you do." Harry says lowly. "When she wakes up from a nightmare, she asks for you. When she panics, when she thinks she's back in that room with Bellatrix? First thing she says is your name."

Ron shudders and closes his eyes at the mention of that awful day at Malfoy Mannor.

"Look, I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare me too, Ron. But she's getting loads better, and that's all your doing. I've known you a long time and I've never seen you look after anything the way you look after her. I understand, mate... I know how hard it is for me to watch her suffer, I can only imagine what it's like for you." Harry stands and hooks his arms under Ron's, hoisting him to his feet. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed. You've run yourself thin."

Harry all but drags Ron down the hall to his room. He deposits him on the messy bed and then trecks down to Hermione's room, pulling Hermione's blanket off her bed. She only slept in it for a few nights, but sniffing experimentally he smells the spicy warm smell of her shampoo. Bingo. He drags the blanket back to Ron's room and throws it over his friend, tucking in the edges as of Ron is 7.

"She's not going to stay in Australia." Harry says firmly as he turns to leave. "Because there aren't any Ron Weasleys in Australia."

"Harry?" Ron's voice is raw.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Ron turns beet red and then buries his face in Hermione's blanket, inhaling deeply. Harry smirks.

"Your welcome, mate."

* * *

**A/N: I took longer with this one, sorry everyone! I'm really proud of this piece. I admire so much those moments in the books when Ron and Harry have those true best friend moments. I really hope you all enjoyed my attempt at one.**


	8. Edge Of A Train Wreck

**Chapter Eight / Edge Of A Train Wreck**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. two months after the Battle at Hogwarts.**

**In this chapter, George finally reunites with his closest friends.**

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* * *

**

_I was watching when you lost direction,  
and I saw you when the headlights died._

_You were standing at the edge of a train wreck,  
twisted up inside. _

**_As Long As It Takes, by Spill Canvas_**

* * *

It's had been 2 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since George had last seen his best friend.

And that wasn't exactly a happy memory.

He'd been in the great hall, like so many others, keeping a vigil over the fallen through the night. George sat on the floor, Fred's cold hand limp in his own with that slight feeling of just _Fred_, tugging on the edge of his mind. It was nearing dawn when Lee appeared out of the darkness and sat beside them on the ground. He didn't look at either of them, just traced patterns with his finger on the scuffed wood floor. When others began to wake and trickle in, Lee stood to leave.

"Are you gonna...?" his voice was raspy.

George shrugged, in the process of rolling and unrolling the cuff of Fred's sleeve for the hundredth time.

"Please don't?" Lee had pleaded softly. Then he turned and fled. He had known, that George was going to do whatever he felt he had to do, regardless of what he was asked. But he had been proven wrong. It was Lee's request that would come back to George when he locked himself away in the dormitory, with all intentions of joining his twin. A guilt laden secret he'll take to his own grave: while his own little brother, and a kid he considered family sat outside, begging him to change his mind- when he should have been thinking of Ginny, of Charlie, his mother- the only person he could think of was Lee. Because Lee had known- had asked him not to.

He'll never truly understand why he avoided Lee and Alicia, for so long. When the others- Angelina, Katie, even Oliver- owled him, concerned for his wellbeing, George found it easy to justify his lack of a response. No one knew Fred and George like Fred and George. They saw the two as one complete unit, not two individuals. They would look at him, and see Fred, and that wasn't something George was ready for.

Out of everyone the twins knew, there were few who understood Fred and George as the separate individuals they were. Few people knew that George was older than Fred, and even though the difference was only a few minutes, he took that older brother role naturally, and was disgustingly protective of Fred. Hardly anyone saw Fred's high strung side- the explosive temper, and the uncommon but violent arguments the two of them could have. While some people may have noticed that George was the slightly more subdued of the two, not many knew George was a worrier, and that only Fred could snap him out of his anxious moods. He worried about school, about getting in more trouble than they could handle, about the shop, and about Ron (despite how he endlessly teased the poor bugger). Charlie saw and understood these distinct personalities. Alicia too, knew him for _him_, a complete individual, not a piece of one whole. And so did Lee.

Lee saw the "older brother" lectures that George often tried to force on his twin. Lee had stood between them in those arguments. Lee had gone running to find Fred when George had had a near breakdown the night Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. It was Lee who knew Fred was far less promiscuous then he let on, that even at the age of 20, Angelina was the only girl he'd ever slept with, and that he'd begged George for advice before the deed was done. It was Lee who was actually closer in personality to Fred than George was, the two of them often concocting mayhem George could never dream of.

George told himself this is why he didn't want to see Lee- because Lee was too much like Fred. He told himself that Lee would ambush him, force interaction with Angelina down his throat like some sort of twisted intervention. In reality, George had no idea why he shied from Lee.

But he knew when he'd had enough.

So there he was, sitting cross-legged on the front stoop of Lee's little house. He looked out over the lawn, thinking of the hours they spent there, testing their fireworks. Thinking of Fred, rolling in the grass, laughing with Angelina, happy. Alive.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but when the sun started to set in the distance, George decided it was about time he made up his mind: knock on the door and see your mate, or take your cowardly arse home. He pulled himself to his feet and decided on the former. He fleetingly considered knocking, but then just turned the knob and let himself in. Lee's house was just as he remembered it, small and cramped and smelling of coffee- Lee loved coffee. Fred could never drink it, hyped him up too much. George gathered himself, cleared his throat and hollered with all the false bravado he could muster, "Lee! You in, mate?"

He was almost immediately rewarded with a strangled cheer from somewhere upstairs and heavy footsteps clattered down the stairs. There was no turning back then. Lee came flying around the corner, all long and lank, limbs flying and hair wild. The expression on his face was something close to relieved. At the sight of him, George realized how much he'd missed this brute. Like a punch to the gut; he suddenly feels shaky.

"Merlin _fuck_," Lee exclaimed seriously, coming forward and grabbing George in a tight, rough embrace. "Am I glad to see you."

George didn't speak. He willed himself to keep it together. He'd already cried more than he thought was possible- didn't think he had anything left to let out, but the second Lee's arms were around him, all the numbness melted away, and he felt the loss again. He felt it then, not as family, as the loss of the brother he loved. There in Lee Jordan's front hall, he felt the loss of the best friend they shared, the Fred only they knew. And it was a crushing weight to bear, all over again.

When he finally broke away from Lee they were both shaking. Lee eyed him carefully, tears in his eyes. He bit his lip and waved George towards the kitchen.

"Got any coffee?" George asked haltingly, dropping into a chair at Lee's tiny table. Lee snorted, already placing the mug in front of George. George wrapped both hands around the thick warm mug, shifting tiredly.

"You look like hell, G." Lee said lowly, pushing a chair right up next to George and sitting down with his own mug. George just shrugged. He knew he looked a mess; clothes wrinkled from sleeping in them, dark circles under his eyes, and hair all a muck, the hole in the side of his head not covered for once. "Where you been sleeping?"

"Sofa." George yawned widely.

"Mate, I got beds." Lee gestured vaguely upstairs. George nodded appreciatively. "Ollie's here. Upstairs."

"Is he? Blimey..." George was pleasantly surprised to find himself pleasantly surprised at this. It had been nearly a year since he's seen Oliver, who's booming Quidditch career took him out of country quite a bit.

"He broke up with that broad." Lee said by way of explanation. "Doesn't seemed too bothered but she kicked him out of the flat, see? Came to crash here- he's just having a kip, now. Only just portkeyed in this morning."

George nodded.

The two were comfortably silent for a little while, Lee downing his coffee black and scalding. George dumped a little cream in his, stirred it just to watch it swirl, his head in his hand, elbow perched on the table.

"I miss him, Lee." George admitted softly, out of nowhere. Lee closed his eyes.

"I know." he said miserably. "Its like a bad prank, right? You know? Feel like he's just gonna walk in and mend my coffee perk."

George smiled in spite of himself. Fred had always been good at fixing things, and Lee's coffee machine was a tough customer that often needed careful consideration.

"Can you still...?" Lee looked at George carefully. Lee understood their link. He'd once tried to test its efficacy, feeding George test answers to see if Fred, who had neglected to study, would pass. McGonagall had not been at all pleased when she discovered all three of their papers were identical.

"For a while. I- uh, I was pretty messed up at first..." George swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. He hadn't talked about this with anyone other than Charlie. "He, uh- I think he was angry I was ignoring you. Thought of you a lot... I- you know, think he wanted me to tell you-"

"Yeah." Lee said hastily, wiping his face. He doesn't need to hear it. He knows.

"Think he hung around, just long enough to know I'd be alright, you know?" George couldn't stop once he'd started. He wanted to sit there and spill his guts to Lee. Tell him every dark thought until they both understood and could explain away every ache. Lee didn't look like he'd have minded. "Tried to leave one night. Ginny was crying, and he lost it. Real pissed."

"He fucking adored her." Lee smiled sadly. George nodded in agreement. Fred had closeness with Ginny that even Ron hadn't achieved.

"He waited till we were having dinner. All of us... We hadn't done that in a while." George shook his head. "The wanker waited till everyone was all together. I felt it slipping, and then he- he- Jesus, Lee, its like I could fucking hear him. I would have said he was standing right behind me if I hadn't known better. And then he hung on till Charlie got to me, and… That was it. He's gone."

George didn't realize he was trembling until Lee grasped his arm.

"I'm a bloody basket case." George breathed shakily. He rubbed at a spot between his eyes, hoping to quell the ache beneath. "'M'sorry-"

"Don't you bloody _apologize_." Lee growled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Stay here tonight, G. Sleep in a real bed and spend some time with us, yeah? The girls are coming by tomorrow-"

"I can't face Angelina. I can't bloody do it." George shook his head violently. He suddenly felt very ill. "Lee, were they even still together? I don't know. I should know-"

"Quit it." Lee snapped. "You're his twin, doesn't mean you've got to know _everything_. To tell you the truth I don't know if Fred knew if they were together. Fuck, Ange probably doesn't know."

"She scares the bleeding hell out of me, LeeJee." George threw his hands over his eyes, and rubbed fiercely. "You ought to see the stack of letters. It's obsessive. She's gonna want to dress me in his clothes and move me into her flat to play house-"

"George, that's sick!" Lee cried, looking a little horrified. They both started to laugh in a slightly apprehensive rather insane way. The way you laugh at someone when you aren't quite sure if they're joking or not. Lee sobered up first, walking to the counter to put on another pot of coffee- he never went without- and as the machine began to brew, he turned his back against the cabinets to face George.

"Honestly? She isn't doing so well..." Lee said quietly, picking at his fingernail. "Her Mum's taken ill as well, they've been in and out of Mungo's for weeks. And Spinster's worried sick over you-"

"Oh piss off, Jordan!" George said loudly, slapped his fists on the table. Lee had hit a nerve, mentioning Alicia Spinnet. She and George had had a fling when they were younger. It hadn't lasted long but the two had remained close and George cared for her a great deal. "How _dare_ you guilt me? Merlin's balls, you've got some nerve-"

Lee slammed his mug down on the counter with a mighty bang.

"Yeah, I've got the nerve. Someone's got to!" Lee said, just as loudly, standing straight, fully intending to use the inch and a half he's got over George if need be. "I get it, George, alright? He was _your _brother. And what I'm feeling, what Ange feels, doesn't even begin to _touch_ what you're going through, but you aren't the only one who lost him! You don't get to just ignore us out like this!"

George opened his mouth to speak, but Lee cut him off, nearly shouting at this point.

"We're all losing sleep over you, you know. Leesh is going _crazy_ she misses you so much… And don't think I haven't talked to Ron. He's putting on a face for you, George, and you know it. You're hurting… and I know our lot isn't really the best at _talking about our feelings_, or whatever, but we want to help you in whatever way we can. You don't get to dump everything on your kid brother and shut everyone else out… So stay, alright? One night, that's all I'm asking here… Please, George."

"Fine." George grumbled.

"Fine." snapped Lee, deflating a little.

"Good."

"Brilliant!"

"Who the devil are you cursing at, Lee?"

George looked up just in time to see Oliver Wood come through the kitchen door. He'd gone and grown a weird little stubble beard, which kind of suited him, and his hair was sticking straight up, messy from sleep. He was clad in a zippered sweater, half way done up over his bare chest, a pair of wrinkled sleep pants and bare feet, and was rubbing his eyes tiredly. Wood looked rather disheveled and George couldn't help but laugh. Wood looked up tiredly, still rubbing at one eye, and froze comically when his gaze landed on George.

"Great Godric... George Weasley." Wood grinned enthusiastically. He let out a series of excited profanities as he scrambled around the table to grab George into a rough hug, pounding him on the back. "How you been?"

George just shrugged. Oliver grimaced.

"Man, I'm sorry... Rough break-"

"Yeah." George cut him off with a swift forced smile.

"I was gonna come down to the Alley tomorrow, drop in. I haven't seen Boy Wonder in a while." Oliver dropped into a chair next to George and waved his thanks at Lee who handed him a steaming cup of fresh coffee. "Lee said he's living with your brother?"

George nodded, grateful for a topic of conversation that didn't involve his late twin.

"They bought the flat above old Mrs. Poppitch's bookstore," he said. "Ron comes down and opens shop in the mornings. He's good help."

The three of them stayed up far into the night, catching up, reminiscing, and even doing a bit of crying that they'll all vehemently deny later. While Lee was hyped up on 3 and a half pots of coffee, and Oliver had just come off a nap, neither of them realized the lateness until George fell asleep face down on the tabletop. They hauled him up the stairs and deposited him in one of Lee's four minuscule bedrooms. Oliver clapped Lee on the shoulder and left him with his sleeping friend. Lee considered George for a moment and then sat at the foot of the bed to remove the sleeping man's shoes. He hauled the cover up over him and flicked off the light, and with one last sad look, left his friend to sleep in peace.

* * *

His mother was weeping, Ginny was sobbing. Ron yelled and screamed and cursed. George clutched Charlie's arm and looked down into his twin's cold and empty eyes-

George woke with a start, breathing heavily. One hand shakily clutched at the edge of the mattress. Mid-afternoon sun streamed in through an open window, blinding and disorienting. George lay immobile, breathless and trembling, as he often did when he woke these days, trying to find his bearings.

He started with facts: The war is over. Fred is dead.

As always, the fresh stab of guilt and grief that prodded his heart was excruciating and he clenched his fist around the twisted sheets as he forced himself to breath.

Then simple observations: you aren't at home. This isn't your couch- this is a bed. It smells like coffee. Lee. You're at Lee's. Calm the fuck down.

And then, one not so simply explained observation: someone is petting you. It took him a moment, but as George came slowly back into consciousness he felt a small hand resting gently on the top of his head, delicate fingertips rubbing lazily through his hair, grazing against his skull. A slight shift on the bed revealed someone stretched out next to him.

Curious, George opened his eyes again and glanced down. Next to his feet, which were twisted and tangled in bed sheets, were second pair- small and dainty, toenails painted a bright turquoise. The feet shifted and denim jeans hitched slightly to expose a braided piece of dark leather tied around one ankle.

In his lethargic haze, George felt a wave of warmth and affection spread through him as he recognized the stranger next to him. He slowly untangled himself from the bedding and rolled over to face her.

"Morning." he said, voice coarse and quiet. Alicia Spinnet was seated against the headboard, long legs stretched out alongside him. Dressed in faded muggle clothes, blue jeans and a simple white blouse, she had a book propped open in her lap. Her hair was pulled into a single plait that lay over one shoulder. Although George was delighted to see her, he was still foggy on _why_ she was there in the first place. "Did we sleep together?"

"'Fraid not, sweetheart." Alicia said merrily. Her eyes remained planted firmly in her book, her fingers still rubbing against his scalp. "We cut that out when we were 16, remember?"

George grinned. He definitely remembered. He'd been her first, and she was his, when he was a 6th year, and she was a 5th, barely turned 16. They'd fooled around for a few weeks before Charlie caught them half naked together in the Quidditch showers after hours. One big brother lecture about taking advantage of barely teenaged girls had put an end to that, but they'd remained very close. He was her best friend and she was his sanctuary- the one person he could go to when everyone else failed him. When Charlie was in Romania, when Fred was off with Angelina, when Lee was getting on his nerves- he could always count on Alicia.

Alicia had a child-like naivety about her. A simplicity, and playfulness that George loved. It was this openness, George thought, that allowed them to remain so close. Sometimes George looked at her and saw the boisterous, outlandish little spitfire that he used to kiss behind the Quidditch Pitch bleachers after a game. And other times, he looked at her and saw a passive tranquility. A tenderness that somehow reminded him of Ginny, of Hermione even, a _definite_ sister vibe, and he longed to wrap her up in his arms to protect her from all harm. He never could figure out what exactly he wanted from her, but she didn't seem to mind. Often he worried she wanted more, that he was dragging her along, or taking advantage of how much she cared for him, but voicing these opinions made her irritated and annoyed with him, and the independence she displayed in her irritation ceased all of his worries instantaneously.

George knew one thing for sure: and that was that he loved Alicia Spinnet with everything that he had. As far as he was concerned, exactly _how_ he loved her was irrelevant.

George head butted Alicia's book out of his way so he could lay his head heavily on her leg, and closed his eyes once more, taking in her familiar fragrance. She smelled of fresh grass, broomstick polish and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum- a memorable and comforting combination.

"'Missed you." He mumbled. Her hand slowed its pattern in his hair. It was only then that he remembered something. "You never wrote me."

Alicia hummed agreeably.

"You needed to be alone, didn't you? To be alone with him for a little longer." She said assertively. "I knew you'd come back to us when you were ready."

George swelled with affection at her understanding. He hauled himself up to sit and hugged her tightly, planting a kiss on her temple. He felt abruptly and devastatingly guilty that he hadn't thought to check up on her at all.

"Sorry it took me so long." He said, squeezing her shoulders and dropping back against the headboard. She leaned back and rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're safe, Leesh."

"Me too." She whispered, tilting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "It's selfish and it's awful, but when I found out, all I could think about was that it could have been you. I was glad that for once, you weren't standing next to him."

"I should have been." George said, dejectedly. This was the first time he'd voiced this guilt. She was the only person he felt comfortable enough with to do so. The tears were sudden and unexpected, and suddenly Alicia's arms were around him. "I shoulda been with him, Leesh."

"I know." That was all she said as he cried into her neck. She knew there was nothing else to be said. Knew nothing anyone ever did could fix him, nothing would ever stop him from feeling that guilt, reliving the moment that they'd agreed it would be best to split up.

Somewhere through his misery George heard the room door open. Alicia tightened the hand the wrapped around the nape of his neck and he heard her say, "Not now, Ange."

George lifted his head and came face to face with Angelina Johnson. For a moment she looked terrified. George wondered wildly is she was going to turn and flee, but instead she just blinked rapidly and turned her head slightly so she was staring at a point on the wall over his head.

"Sorry- I, uh-"

"Angelina." George didn't know what else to say. He turned his head away slightly as he tucked his hair aside to reveal his missing ear, self consciously wanting to make it clear for her that he wasn't Fred. The sight of him was obviously upsetting her.

"He left some things at my place." Angelina said suddenly, heaving a great unsteady breath. "I didn't know if you wanted to…. I should go-"

George gave Alicia a gently shove.

"Ange-" Alicia stood and took a step towards Angelina, her hand still clutched in one of George's.

"It's fine, Leesh, I need to get back to Mum anyways. You should stay." Angelina nodded, and then briefly met George's eyes. "Don't keep hiding. Fred wouldn't have wanted that for yo-"

"I don't think he would have wanted a _wall_ to fall on him either, Angelina, but we don't always _get_ what we want." George said. It was cold, and he knew it, wanted to take it back almost immediately. He got the briefest look at the shocked and hurt expression on Angelina's face before she turned and left, door shutting silently behind her.

"You have to fix that." Alicia said after a few minutes silence, sitting down next to him again.

George turned and kissed her.

They're on the bed, his hands in her hair and hers creeping under his shirt when she pulls away.

"Stop," Her hands were flat against his chest, pushing him away. "George, please."

"I'm- _fuck_ Leesha, I'm sorry." Guilt was filling him already as he realized what he'd done.

"Don't be sorry. Look at me." She said firmly, meeting his eyes. "I know what this is. You need to feel something, something that doesn't hurt. But we don't this. This isn't what we are."

"I know." George says honestly. He knew she was right. He was just desperate for relief from the constant weight of grief inside of him. He sighed heavily and pulled her into his arms, kissing the side of her head. "I'm sorry, kid."

"You're my best friend, George." Alicia said softly. And its that, that broken tone, that told him for sure that he'd upset her. She was crying, her tears wet on his shoulder. "I love you, and I want to be here for you, however you need me. But you're my best friend, and I can't let us ruin that."

"I know."

And while he agreed with her, on everything she said, in that moment he couldn't help but feel more alone than ever.

* * *

**A/N: Finally. Sorry it took forever! Next one shouldn't be as long a wait! George's group are a bunch of potty-mouths, I hope I didn't offend anyone. Also, they've all got weird nicknames… it just felt right for a group as lively as they are in my mind. More on Harry and Ron in a week or so!**

**Hope everyone enjoyed this part, leave me a review and tell me what you thought! Thanks for the support!**

**-Laine.**


	9. Come On, Courage

**Chapter Nine / Come On, Courage.**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. 3 months after the Battle at Hogwarts. (August 1998)**

**In this chapter, the Trio spends time apart while the Weasley Boys spend time together.**

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* * *

**

_Stones taught me to fly,  
__Love taught me to cry._

_So come on, courage,  
__Teach me to be shy._

_It's not hard to fall,  
__When you float like a cannonball._

_**-Cannonball, by Damien Rice**_

_**

* * *

**_

_Harry & Ron,_

_I won't be writing for a couple days. Our flight leaves tomorrow evening, so please keep Hemingway with you until Tuesday. Then he can fly to my parents' house once we're back in the country_

_I miss you both terribly but I'm afraid I won't be coming home just yet. Mum and Dad are still understandably shaken by everything and neither have taken well to the idea of me moving out and living with the two of you. I've decided to go live at home with them- at least for the time being. To give us all a sort of adjustment period. And I must admit I've missed them so much and it will be so nice to be home again without having to worry about what happening on the other side._

_Ron, I know you won't be pleased about this, but please try to understand my situation. Please don't doubt that I am eager to get home to all of you. I just need some more time. Please understand. Hopefully I'll see the both of you soon._

_Say hello to everyone, and Harry, give Teddy and hug from me!_

_Love from,_

_Hermione._

_

* * *

_

_Harry,_

_Ron hasn't answered any of my owls. Is everything all right there? Is he really so mad at for me for moving back home? I miss him so much Harry; I wish he would write. Please let me know if anything is wrong._

_How are things with Teddy? The pictures you sent were just adorable. He does look ever so like Remus. And he's growing so fast!_

_I'm going to try and make a trip to the Burrow for Ginny's birthday. Do tell Ron that, won't you? Maybe it'll lift his spirits some._

_I miss you Harry, Ginny as well. She says one of Mr. Weasley's phones is working. Maybe you lot could pop over and give me a ring one day?_

_Give everyone my best!_

_Love from,_

_Hermione._

_

* * *

_

_Hermione-_

_Ron is NOT angry with you. I promise._

_Though, that is about the only thing I've been able to get out of him in the past few days. He's throwing tantrums worse than a teething Mandrake, and I haven't got a clue what to do about it. Him and George have been fighting something awful these past few days- but Ginny says not to worry, these things happen with siblings. I wouldn't know- you're the closest to sibling I've got, and we hardly even bicker._

_Bill and Percy have been around the Burrow a lot, and Charlie is coming home from Romania for a week for Ginny's birthday. Maybe having everyone around will smarten Ron up a little. _

_You'll be here, won't you? Ginny misses you- we all do. _

_Can't wait to see you again._

_Love, _

_Harry._

_P.S. Don't worry about him, Hermione. If he doesn't come round soon I'm sure Mrs. Weasley can knock some sense into him._

_

* * *

_

Hermione smiled a little as she finished Harry's letter. The three of them knew each other so well, it was hardly a surprise that Harry knew to add such a postscript; knew she would fret over Ron's new attitude. She tucked Harry's letter back into its envelope and placed it neatly with the small stack growing in her desk drawer. Hemingway pecked at her hair from his perch above her at the windowsill.

"I won't send you back just yet." Hermione said quietly, more to herself than to the owl. She coaxed the bird to its cage and fed him some treats before circling the small room to sit on her bed. As much as she missed Ron, missed Harry and Ginny, she couldn't help but be glad to be back in her room, her own bed. So many nights she'd lay awake in that tent and wish she were home in her warm bed, with her parents safe down the hall. So many nights she flirted with the thought of leaving, of packing up and slipping away in the dead of night. But then Harry would twist and turn and moan in his sleep, as his and Voldemort's minds briefly became one, and Ron would come hustling in from his post outside. Hermione would listen to him shake Harry awake, his voice low and comforting. She would watch them, outlined in the darkness, still and silent, sitting close together- Harry's breathing panicked, Ron patting his back with a shaking hand. They needed her. And no matter how much she missed her parents, missed Hogwarts, or the comfort of her own childhood bedroom, she always knew she couldn't leave. She didn't want to. Her home was with them now.

Her room hadn't changed much over the years, simply gained reminders of the magical world she left behind every summer. The lilac wallpaper of her girlhood was dotted with photos whose subjects laughed and waved, a Gryffindor flag that she and Ginny had waved at a Quidditch match in 3rd year was pinned to the back of the door, her school robes hung neatly in the wardrobe. Beside her wand, on the bedside table, was a small, framed photo, one of the oldest she owned from her days at Hogwarts, it was one that Mrs. Weasley had taken at King's Cross at the end of 1st year. They had barely stepped onto the platform, the scarlet and steam of the Hogwarts Express made up the entire background of the picture. Bushy haired and youthful, Hermione's 12-year-old self stood to the right of the photo, smiling brightly. Opposite her, a young and terribly freckled Ron grinned like a madman. And between them, the youngest at only 11, was Harry. Baby-faced and still innocent, he laughed heartily and threw an arm around each of them. His friends. A boy with nothing had gained everything in that year, had gained friends, family, and although he hadn't known it then, enough responsibility and heartache to last him a lifetime.

Hermione brushed her fingers across the glass of the frame, across their young faces. It was amazing to think back to those days; they'd survived a troll and a chess set, and suddenly there they were: Harry, Ron and Hermione. A perfect set. As if it had always been that way. They felt alive and on top of the world in that instant, and Hermione longed to reach back in time and hold them there just a little longer, knowing painfully how quickly things would be complicated, and how fast they would have to grow.

"Hermione, love," Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her bedroom door. Her mother's voice was soft and quiet; her parents had learned the hard way how easily she startled now. "Can I come in?"

"Er- yeah, Mum, fine." Hermione put the picture back on the table and stood, turning her back to the door to wipe tears from her eyes. When she turned around the door was shut again and her mother was standing awkwardly in the centre of the room.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked, alarmed when she saw Hermione's face. "Hermione, you've been crying!"

"Oh, Mum!" Hermione couldn't help herself. She darted forwards and threw her arms around her mother's neck. Mrs. Granger wasted no time in seating them on the bed and wrapping her arms around her daughter.

"You miss them, don't you?" she asked delicately. Hermione nodded against her shoulder. "But you aren't quite ready to leave just yet, are you?"

Hermione laughed a little. Few people could read her this way, and her mother was never wrong.

"Daddy will be livid when I do leave." Hermione said despondently, sitting up to face her mother.

"He's just concerned, honey, we both are…" Mrs. Granger hesitated. "That's why I came up here actually… I was hoping to speak to you about your… arrangements."

"My living arrangements?" Hermione guessed, a sudden chill in her voice.

"Now, don't you get bold with me, young lady." Her mother became flustered very quickly these days. There had been a few days of absolute peace once the anger at Hermione's memory charm had dissipated, before these dreaded conversations started up about Hermione's future. "You understand, Hermione, why we're worried. A young woman such as yourself, living alone with two teenage boys… I mean, Harry's lack of guidance I understand, the poor thing, but Ron! Where are his parents in all this? How can they allow such a decision to take place?"

"Mother!" Hermione threw her hands in the air, frustrated. How many times would she have to explain herself? "The Weasley's are a Wizarding family. They marry young, start large families. Mrs. Weasley was my age when she was married! Harry's parents had him when they were barely 20!"

Mrs. Granger looked appalled.

"Well, all the more reason! Come and live at home, Hermione! You could go to University, now that you're finished with the magic school. Living with Harry and Ron just isn't smart." She said vehemently. "How can we be sure neither will take advantage of you, with their crackpot Wizarding values and their-"

"Stop."

Hermione stood. Her voice was thin and her eyes blazing. Things had gone too far.

"Stop it right now, Mother. I won't hear that sort of talk. That kind of narrow-mindedness is the reason we just fought a war." Hermione held her hands together in front of her to stop their trembling. "I was tortured, Mum. Because in the eyes of the Death Eaters, I am dirt on their shoes. You and Dad aren't wizards, and these people would have killed me because of it. How can you judge Harry and the Weasleys when they are the reason I'm still here?"

"Hermione, don't be- don't be dramatic-" Mrs. Granger shook her head, but her argument was weak… tears filled her eyes.

Hermione shook her head sadly. She knew her mother wasn't angry, merely acting out of fear, out of love.

"Dramatics is for you to suggest that either of them would even dream of hurting me! These two have taken care of me better than you could have ever hoped, Mum. Harry walked right into Voldemort's hands. He walked to his _death_, to keep the rest of us out of harm's way. He has risked his life for Ron and I more times than I can count. And Ron…"

At the though of him, tears gushed to the surface, swam across Hermione's cheeks.

"You love him." Mrs. Granger supplied simply. Hermione just nodded, gazing over her mothers shoulder at the picture on the nightstand.

"He is the kindest, most loving and caring person I know." It was the only way she could put it in words for her mother. "He loves his family with everything he has, and he passionate about keeping them safe and happy. And I'm a part of that now, Mum. You and Dad will always be my parents, and I love you both so much… but they're my family too. I can't abandon them all to go off to University."

Hermione shrugged to herself, a hysterical giggle escaping her.

"I don't want to go to school. Here or there." She couldn't believe she was saying it herself, and her mother's face was masked by shock. "We fought this, we fought _him _so people like me, could live. Live without fear- live in both worlds. So my family would be safe, Mum, so you and Dad could be safe. And I can do that now! I don't have to worry about you, or about Harry, or Ron, or who might be following us."

Hermione met her mother's eyes.

"I'm a witch. And as much as I belong here… I belong over there too." Hermione sat on the bed next to her mother and took her hand. "You don't have to be scared. No ones going to hurt us, ever again."

And as her mother smiled, Hermione, for the first time, believed it.

* * *

A month into Hermione's absence, and a week after she moved back into her parents house, Ron had evolved into something quite dreadful. His mood and moral returned to one similar to that of their months of camping, and his already dismal housekeeping habits had declined even further. Harry spent most of his days following Ron around the flat, picking up his mate's trash, laundry and empty dishes. Ron had barely spoken to Harry in a week; only to ask how Hermione was, insist he wasn't upset with her. '_Just don't much feel like writing anyone right now_', he'd said.

His performance at the shop also began to steadily decline as well, as Ron became increasingly unpleasant to be around. He was rude with customers, and anything anyone said could brew an argument. This all came to head one Saturday afternoon, when Harry was rudely awakened by one Lee Jordan. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa after a night of fitful sleep. Visions of Voldemort and death were swimming at the edges of his mind when he was shaken roughly.

"The Weasley's are about to lose another kid." Lee said, as soon as Harry's eyes slid open. The curly headed young man was leaning over Harry, their noses nearly touching.

"Sorry?" Harry asked dazedly, reaching for his glasses. Lee plucked them off the sofa table and stuck them haphazardly onto Harry's nose.

"Ron and George are at it again," Lee said seriously. "And there is no way on this Earth that both of them are making it out alive."

Harry snorted and turned his face against the couch cushions.

"Mate." Lee said, an inch of pleading to his voice. "I'm not joking here. Wands are coming out down there."

Harry groaned and sat up, straightening his glasses. "Well, what am I going to do about it, Lee?" he asked, annoyed by Ron's childish behaviors.

"I don't care what you do, just make it stop. Ron's made three children cry already and shop's barely been open two hours."

Harry haphazardly threw on some clothes and followed Lee to the kitchen. They took the floo, and as soon as Harry stepped out of the fireplace in the back office of the Wheezes, he could hear the shouting. Out in the main store, customers were crowded around, watching the argument unfold. Harry spotted his best friend almost immediately- across the store, pinning George to the wall by the collar. Blood dripped from George's nose and both brothers looked livid. Alicia Spinnet was standing next to them.

"Ron, let him go." she said loudly. "Don't you dare hurt him!"

"Everyone clear out!" Lee yelled loudly, shooing the crowd. "Go on, nothing to see here. Store's closed - have a nice day!"

Lee went to lock the front door behind the customers as Harry made his way cautiously up to the to red heads.

"Go ahead, Ron- hit me again." George snarled. He choked a little on the words- Ron's hand was constricting his windpipe. "Worse than a bloody Muggl-"

Harry knew before George even had the word out that it was the wrong thing to say. Before he could do anything, Ron pulled back punched George square in the face. Alicia screamed.

"RON!" Harry grabbed Ron by the back of the robes and yanked- George tumbled to the floor. Ron struggled, arms flailing and face full of fury, but Harry's hold was sound. "Stop it! STOP, Ron!"

"Let go, Harry!" Ron sneered, fighting to get back to George.

"No!" Harry shoved Ron towards an opposite wall. It was a difficult feat, as Ron was quite larger than he. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Behind them, George stumbled to his feet and towards the two. Ron stepped forward but Harry shoved him again, keeping himself between the two. Alicia gripped George's elbow, but he threw her off. Lee looked shocked.

"Get. Out." George said lowly, voice dripping with malice. He glared at Ron over Harry's shoulder. "Don't you _ever_ come back here again."

"Come on." Harry grabbed Ron by the arm and wrestled him back into the office and into the floo. Ron fought him the whole way. Harry had never seen Ron in such a rage, had never seen him turn on one of his brothers like this and had no idea how to handle the situation. Out of pure desperation, he pulled Ron into the fireplace and threw the floo powder at their feet, shouting the first thing that came to mind.

"The Burrow!"

"What are you playing at?" Ron spat as soon as they fell out of the fireplace and onto the Weasley's hearth. He pushed himself up and shook free of Harry's grasp. "Get off me,"

"What are YOU playing at?" Harry demanded. Ron sat down on the sofa, arms crossed tightly, and a pout on his lips. He looked rather like a small child throwing a tantrum. Harry stood in front if him, arms spread in a kind of surrender. "What's gotten into you, Ron?"

"Nothing." Ron stared at Harry's elbow, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Ron. Come off it." Harry said loudly, ducking his head to try and catch Ron's gaze. "You were less miserable half starved with a Horcrux strung around your neck!"

Ron said nothing.

"What's going on in here?" Ginny came into the room, smiling pleasantly. Her face darkened when she spotted Ron with a bruised cheek and bloody knuckles. "What happened?"

"Never you mind." Ron snarled.

"Don't you snap at her!" Harry warned.

"She's my sister," Ron stood and stepped into Harry's space. "I'll snap at her if I want, thanks."

"Ron." Ginny said, not looking too bothered. "Bill's here."

Harry understood the significance of this statement. Ron had explained to him how the Weasley's had divided themselves as children- during the period of time when all the Weasley's lived at the Burrow, the elder children were assigned to the younger children, an idea of Mr. Weasley's to keep his brood under control. Percy took care of Ginny, Charlie looked out for the twins, and Bill was responsible for Ron. Now, in adulthood, these rolls were still enforced to an extent- the reason Ron took refuge at Bill's when he left Harry and Hermione.

"So?" Ron rounded on Ginny.

"Don't go picking fights here, you know he won't hesitate to put you in your place." Ginny said coolly.

"Oh sod off, no one asked you." Ron said, and he shoved Ginny towards the door. It was harmless. They were siblings, close in age and temperament and Harry had seen them push each other around more than once. But this was too much right now; Ron had crossed some invisible line and Harry's temper flared.

"Hey!" Harry yanked Ron away from his sister.

"Harry, don't." Ginny saw what was coming, and a rare flash of fear flitted across her face. "It's fine, just let him brood-"

"What the hell is going on?" Bill entered the room, no doubt attracted by their raised voices.

Harry ignored them both, grabbing Ron's arm.

"You try that again, and I swear, I'll-"

"Oh, shut up." Ron said dryly. "Quit acting like you belong here."

Silence.

Bill looked shocked. Ginny slapped a hand over her mouth, wide eyes on Harry. Every bit of color drained from Ron's face as he realized what he'd said.

Harry was frozen. Ron's words were like slap to the face. It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown at him, and a heavy stone settled in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly felt sick. Harry let go of Ron's arm as if he had been burned, and then stumbled backwards.

"Harry-" Ron's voice shook.

Harry shook his head; he didn't want to hear it.

"I think you should move out." Harry whispered. He suddenly didn't want Ron around him anymore, didn't want to deal with his bitterness and misery. He missed his real best friend, the Ron that had disappeared over the previous weeks. He missed Hermione. He missed Remus, Sirius, and for the first time in a long time he longed for his parents. Longed for the comfort of his father, who had valued friendship so much, because surely he would have understood the agony, the betrayal that Harry felt in that moment.

The look on Ron's face was tragic as he turned and fled the room. Harry found he couldn't bring himself to care as he stood and listened to Ron pound up the stairs. A door slammed upstairs and Harry only felt hollow. Ginny was still staring at him. She knew better than to say anything, knew the only person who could fix this had just gone and locked himself in his room. Bill was the first to move. He moved forward and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Him and George have been fighting haven't they?" he asked, eyes weary.

Harry nodded. It took him a moment to get his throat unstuck. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw and watery.

"He put George on his ass."

Bill closed his eyes for a moment, as if praying for strength.

"He doesn't mean it." Bill said seriously. "You're as much a Weasley as the rest of us, kid. Whether you like it or not."

Harry just nodded, staring past Bill's shoulder into the kitchen where he could see the family clock- Fred's hand remained stuck on Mortal Peril. A newer hand, with Harry's name on it was wedged between Bill's and Ginny's pointed to 'Home'. Mrs. Weasley had had one for him and one for Hermione put in at some point during the war.

Bill nodded a little and put a hand against the side of Harry's head, ruffling his hair tenderly. It was an affectionate, older-brother type of gesture and it made Harry ache inside as he stared at Fred's hand still on the clock.

"I'll handle Mum if you want to take Ginny home with you tonight." Bill said. "Just behave yourselves."

Harry nodded again and Bill disappeared. Harry found Ginny's eyes and held her gaze as they listened to Bill take the stairs and knock on Ron's door. The door opened and then shut. Harry expected shouting. Instead loud harsh sobs met his ears. He couldn't take it anymore- the hurt was too much. He closed his eyes against it all. He only opened them when Ginny took his hand, and tugged him forward… It was all the invitation he needed.

* * *

At the top of the rickety wooden stairs Bill stood silently, staring at the peeling nameplate on his youngest brother's bedroom door. He wasn't going to yell at Ron. (He'd leave that to Mum). Something was wrong. Ron's anger was a defense mechanism. Fights and insults were a cover; a coping mechanism for hurt, misery, and loneliness. Bill knew when Ron was truly angry; he was mostly silent and brooding. This fighting and beating people? This was something entirely different. It was pure Ron, upset at the world and holding it in until he lashed out at everyone around him, including himself.

Taking a deep breath Bill knocked three times and waited. A few moments later he sighed as he heard two knocks on the bedroom wall- a secret code from their childhood. Three knocks: _are you ok? Can I come in? What do you need?_ One knock: _bugger off. I'm fine. I don't want to talk to you._ Two knocks: _I need you. I'm sorry. Let's talk._ No knock back was a cause for concern- an all out "Get Mum, someone's sick or bleeding" emergency. They'd had a couple of those in their childhood. But this? This Bill could handle. He let himself into the room, closing the door behind him. Ron was sitting in the centre of the bed, long legs pulled in close, chin on top of knees. He looked like a small child, not a gangly boy of 18. He didn't look up when Bill walked in, just stared straight ahead at the bedpost. Bill watched him for a second before approaching and sitting down next to his brother on the bed. He lifted an arm and wrapped it across Ron's knees. A few seconds later he felt Ron's hand on his elbow, his finger tapping twice.

Two knocks.

I need you.

Except Bill knew it meant so much more- I need Harry, I didn't mean what I said. I miss Fred. I want Hermione to come home.

"I know." Bill said, lifting his arms to pull his brother in. "Hey, c'mere, I know."

Ron didn't fight the embrace and the second his head met Bill's shoulder he broke. He cried like a toddler, heavy and constant and snotty until he was gasping and choking on tears.

"Ron," Bill sighed, rubbing his little brother's back. "Ronnie, come on, talk to me."

Ron lifted his head and sat up; took a heaving breath, wiping his face clumsily.

"What happened with George?" Bill asked, pushing damp bangs off of Ron's face.

"I hit him." said Ron.

"You two have been at each others throats for a while now... How come?"

Ron shrugged.

"He's different now." Ron croaked. "You know he's always been a bit twitchy, but now it's like he worries about everything. Everything I do he double-checks. 'Did you do the inventory, Ron?' 'Is that the right ingredient, Ron? 'Don't fuck this up, Ron.' We haven't been getting along lately."

Ron pulled his knees in closer, viscously undoing the knot of his left sneaker as he spoke.

"And then this morning, he needed something from the office for a batch of Puking Pastels. Thought he told me to get it, but he didn't. The batch went to rubbish, he blamed me." Ron flung the shoe across the room at a poster where is hit the Captain of the Chudley Cannons square in the face. "We got into it. I said I'm not his bloody twin, I'm not a fill in for Fred and he can't expect me to read his mind. He went livid and started screaming at me and I- I-"

Ron struggled to get the second shoe off, his hands shaking. Finally he kicks out, the shoe flinging free and hitting the door, falling to the ground with a thud. Ron took a shaky breath.

"I just saw red, Billy." he said, looking at Bill. Bill searched his face carefully. There was no anger there now, just weariness, and guilt. "Next thing I knew, I had him up against the wall. I think I broke his nose."

"For Merlin's sake, Ron!" Bill scolded. He pinched the spot between his eyes; these boys were going to be the death of him. "You didn't leave him alone?"

"Lee's there." Ron said guiltily, shaking his head. "George said I ought not come back."

Ron blinked rapidly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Hey, look at me." Bill ducked his head to consider Ron. He was thinner than Bill had ever seen him, his face gaunt, and his eyes were hollow and swollen, dark circles beneath them. "He'll let you back. I know he will. But, maybe..."

Bill hesitated. Ron just stared at him, not really seeing. Between them, his hands shook.

"Ron, I think you need a break."

"I'm fine." Ron said mechanically. The answer was automatic, no feeling behind it. Ron's expression didn't change.

"No, you aren't. Ginny says you don't sleep, you barely speak to Harry."

Ron shrugged.

"Ronald. This is serious." Bill said tightly, squeezing Ron's hands in his when his brother tried to squirm away. "Look at yourself, little brother. Let me help you. Please."

Ron didn't get a chance to respond as there were two distant popping sounds from downstairs, and then laughing and chatter and one pair of feet on the stairs.

"That'll be Charlie." Bill said absently. "Mum went to meet him at the Portkey office."

Ron went ashen.

"Merlin. I hit George." Ron breathed, eyes unfocused. "Charlie's going to kill me."

"No, he won't." Bill said evenly.

"Bill, what is _wrong _with me?" Ron was paper white, and trembling, face pinching as if he were in pain. Bill could see what was coming. Ron had been wearing himself down since the battle, had jumped right into Fred's place, caring for George, never even giving himself time to recover from the year he spent on the run. Ron was crashing, fast and sudden. He made to stand, and Bill was ready, catching Ron when his knees buckled, lowering both of them to the ground. Bill knew when to call in the re-enforcements. He wouldn't yell, wouldn't dare think of frightening their mother with Ron passed out against him, so instead, thankful that Charlie was in the house, Bill lifted one foot and kicked his heel against the wooden bedroom floor. Four times. The final piece of their secret sibling code, developed when it was just Bill, Charlie and Percy, and carried on with the others. Their house was old and the ghoul was noisy, and while four loud bangs echoing through the house would go mostly unnoticed by their parents, it was an SOS for the 7 siblings, and any of them in earshot would come running.

Bill had barely put his foot down for the fourth time when he heard the unmistakable sound of Charlie's footsteps, heavy and hurried on the staircase nearest to Ron's room. Bill didn't have to wait long. An instant later Charlie was standing in the doorway, looking shocked.

"Bill, what the hell happened?"

"Lock the door." Bill ordered, tightening an arm around Ron's limp form. "Mum doesn't need to see this."

Charlie obeyed and then came to Bill's side. Together, magic forgotten, they hauled Ron onto his bed. They propped him up against pillows and sat on either side of him as Bill quickly summarized the last hour's events for Charlie.

"Look at him, Charlie. He'll make himself ill, if he isn't already." Bill said miserably. He could let his defenses down in front of Charlie. Charlie was his first brother, his closest friend and together they made up the driving force behind the Weasley clan. Together, they could fix this. "He doesn't sleep, he barely eats... And the rest of us are hardly setting much of an example."

"This ends. Now." Charlie said firmly. Bill swallowed thickly as he met his brother's determined gaze.

"How're we getting through this, Char?" He whispered. It was a question he often asked himself. He whispered it aloud in the dead of night when Fleur was asleep beside him, when there was no one to answer- because there was no answer. It didn't make sense that they were still living, still breathing; how could they with a piece missing? "How are any of us still standing?"

"Because we've got to, we haven't got any choice." Charlie said firmly. "None of us gets to lay down and die because he's gone. We aren't losing anyone else." Charlie reached over pushed sweaty bangs off of Ron's forehead, laid his hand on top of his head. His voice lowered to a near whisper. "You hear me, kid?"

Ron did hear him, it seemed, and he groaned and stirred under Charlie's hand. Bill leaned in as well and gripped Ron's shoulder, squeezing gently. Ron blinked slowly and clouded eyes met Bill's, confused.

"You fainted, mate." Bill said gently.

Ron closed his eyes again and shook his head a little. "Blokes don't faint." he muttered, sounding a little peeved with himself. Charlie threw his head back and laughed, and Bill couldn't help but grin.

"How're you feeling?" Bill asked. Charlie conjured a cup of water and pushed it into Ron's shaking hand, helped him guide it to his lips.

"Feel like I went 3 rounds with a Dementor." Ron rasped, shivering slightly as he sipped cold water. He glanced sidewards at Charlie. "I hit your kid."

Bill smirked at that. Their assigned sibling duties caused much teasing when the twins were old enough for their mischief to get out of hand. They were Charlie's responsibility when their parents weren't around. "They're your kids," Bill would tease when Charlie glowered over a mess that they had made that he then had to clean. Looking back, it made sense that the twins were Charlie's... Despite his restlessness, Charlie had a surprisingly patient demeanor about him, and went on to handle dragons after handling his twin brothers; two tasks that Bill expected were actually quite similar.

"Forgiven." Charlie waved a hand nonchalantly and then reached out to touch the bruise forming on Ron's cheek. "Looks like he clocked you one anyways."

"We'll check up on George." Bill said assuredly. He gestured towards the cup in Ron's hand. "Finish that. Then you're going to get some sleep."

Ron obeyed, dutifully draining the glass before slumping down onto his pillows. Charlie removed Ron's shoes as Bill grabbed an extra blanket and threw it over him.

"'Msorry." Ron muttered, face mashed against the edge of the pillow. "Shouldn'ta said that... Harry b'longs to us."

"He knows that." Bill said, ruffling Ron's hair, just as he had done with Harry earlier. "Get some sleep, Ron."

He was snoring before his brothers left the room. Bill and Charlie stood outside the door for a while, backs against the wall, shoulder to shoulder just staring at the wall opposite them. They would need to go to Percy's flat, and to the Wheezes to collect George; the brothers all needed to be together tonight... But for right then, they were content to just stand together in the silence.

"Dinner's at 7, we're having Ron's favorite." their mother said lightly, when she walked past with the laundry. Not a word had been said to her about the day's events, and yet she still knew. She always seemed to know. "You'd best get moving if you're fetching the others."

Her two eldest cornered her almost instantly, their hug engulfing her. The laundry basket lay forgotten on the floor.

* * *

"Ginny, please, can't we just leave? I don't want to stay here."

Hand-in-hand, Ginny led Harry across the Weasley's yard, towards her father's shed. The sun was setting, and Harry had had enough of that day, was ready to just go home and crawl into bed and stat over tomorrow. Ginny, however, had other ideas.

"Just give me a minute, alright?" she said patiently. She opened the door and waited for Harry to step into the shed before following.

Harry's face was drawn and pale, and full of hurt. Ginny knew that out of anything that could have been said to Harry, what Ron had spat at him had stung the most.

"He didn't mean it, you know," Ginny said, running her fingers along the workbench as she walked slowly towards the back of the shed. The day's last rays of sunshine filtered through grimy windows, gleamed off of toasters and televisions. "This is what he does... When he's upset, you know? Though I've only seen him this bad once or twice before."

"I know." Harry nodded, thinking back to fourth year, Ron's violent temper and long silences. "I just want my best friend back."

"Which one?" Ginny asked gently, turning to face him.

"Both." Harry shrugged, scuffing at the dirt floor with the toe of his shoe.

Ginny sat atop a high stool at the worktable and allowed Harry to stand between her knees. Her hands on his chest, she tilted her head to one side as she looked up and considered him for a moment.

"I'll never understand it..." she said softly. A hint of the young girl she was when they met shone through the strong woman she had become. She looked vulnerable now. "This thing the three of you have... No one else is ever getting in there, are they?"

Harry looked into her eyes, and couldn't stand to lie to her. He felt the truth, but wasn't sure how to put it into words. He just shook his head instead, whispered an apology.

"This is different." he said finally. He felt raw. Open. Brave and daring enough to put everything on the table. One Weasley had pushed him out today, what was one more? "This- us... Ginny, I love you. I need you to believe that."

"I do." Ginny said simply. She smiled a little then. Harry put his hands on her knees, looked down at them; they were scarred badly, lines across his fingers and wrists, callused fingertips from Quidditch, and across one hand, _**I must not tell lies**_ still stood out clearly. Sometimes he wondered why she even let him touch her with those hands, as damaged and scarred on the surface as he felt inside. He owed everything to her, and yet here all he had to give to her were scars and baggage. Harry took a deep breath.

"When I was a kid, I was alone. I felt so alone, all the time. I used to sit alone in that cupboard and think about what it would feel like to have a friend. Someone to laugh with, someone to share with, to care about." Harry couldn't meet her eyes, continued to look at the back of his hands. He'd never told anyone any of this before. "More than I missed my parents, more than I hated the Dursleys, I just wanted a friend. That was all I ever wished for. And then I got on the train to Hogwarts, and Ron walked into my compartment, and everything changed. He had all of you growing up, he didn't need me like I needed him, and he will never understand what he means to me..."

"And Hermione?" Ginny asked. Harry looked up then and caught a hint of something in her expression.

"Hermione belongs to your brother." Harry said, grinning a little. "And I would never in a million years dream I taking her from him, so don't you worry."

Ginny smiled, and whatever was in her eyes- doubt, insecurity, jealousy- disappeared.

"Hermione means to me what you mean to Ron, or to Charlie. I wished for a friend, and I got Ron. I wished for family, and the world handed me Hermione." Harry blinked rapidly and tried to look away. Ginny put a hand on his cheek, made him face her. "I love them, Ginny. I didn't know what love was until I met them. And I can't put you there; I can't put you in that relationship because I don't know how it happened in the first place. We walked into each others lives and we clung to each other and this, whatever the three of us are, it just happened."

"There's never going to be another Harry, Ron and Hermione." Ginny nodded in agreement.

"Bloody hell, I hope not." Harry laughed. When he sobered a little he leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers. "You gave me hope, Ginny. When I look at you, I think of the future. And in my head my future is you. It's you, and Ron and Hermione, and our houses are overflowing with kids with messy red hair, and Teddy never feels as alone as I did, and we're all just _happy_. And I want that so bad, Ginny, I swear to you I do."

"So do I." Ginny's voice was almost inaudible.

Harry took a quivering breath and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent.

"I don't know what I'm doing." He admitted shakily. "Everything's such a bloody mess still… I kicked Ron out. Why would I _do_ that?"

"Harry? Here…" Harry released Ginny as she reached across the workbench to grab something from behind him. A telephone. She held the receiver firmly in her hand and looked up at him. "Things aren't the same without her… and this- what happened today- this is good enough reason for her to come back."

Harry leaned down and kissed her. "Thank you." He murmured against her lips. She just smiled. Harry sat down on the bench and pulled Ginny into his lap, holding the receiver to his ear. Ginny dialed the number.

"Hello?"

"Hermione." When he heard her voice, his own choked up. He suddenly found it difficult to keep his composure. Over Ginny's head, through the shed's window he could see the Burrow. A light on in Ron's room showed the shadows of four older brothers, surrounding their youngest, and suddenly Harry wanted to be up their with them. Ginny wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and then he lost it. A broken sob escaped him.

"Harry? Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione's voice echoed clearly through the phone and Harry pressed it closer to his face, hoping she would come through it, appear next to him and Ginny in the shed, and together they would fix Ron, and everything would be okay again.

"He kicked Ron out." Ginny said, pressing her face against Harry's, phone nestled between them so they could both hear Hermione. "Your boys are very unhappy, and I think you should come home now."

"Oh, Ginny. What has he done?" There was movement on the other end of the line. Clothes being pulled out a wardrobe.

Harry didn't give Ginny the chance to answer.

"Come home, Hermione." He choked, squeezing Ginny to him. "Please come home. I don't know how to help him. He needs _you_."

"Okay. Alright, I'm coming." More movement, a trunk being slammed closed. "I'm coming, Harry. I'm on my way."

They hung up the phone and Ginny hugged him. Harry couldn't remember ever crying like this, didn't understand how someone could feel so wretched, and at the same time so comforted and loved. Ginny pressed her lips again his face, whispered quite nonsense to him, and for the first time in a long time, Harry let everything go.

* * *

**A/N: **

**As many of you may know, there's something going on with the servers... I've been trying to update this story for the past week with no luck! Luckily, the awesome users on the forum came up with a fix. :)**

**I've already started on the next chapter, which will pick up right where this one leaves off... so this one is sort of a two-parter. Please, don't be shy, come and leave me a review! I love hearing what ya'll think! While you're there, what would you guys like to see from this story in the future? I promise the misery is going to taper off soon... we need a little happiness, don't you think? I've got plans for George & Angelina, Harry & Ginny, and OF COURSE Ron & Hermione. I've outlined a chapter about Bill and Fleur as well that you'll get to see soon enough. And I havn't forgotten about Teddy! :)**

But what do you guys want to see? Let me know and I'll try and work it in! 

**Hope everyone is still enjoying! **

**-Laine**


	10. Spoke Our Destiny

**Chapter Ten / Spoke Our Destiny**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. 3 months after the Battle at Hogwarts. (August 1998)**

**In this chapter, the Weasley boys have a meeting, Hermione returns, Ron and Harry shout some more, and Ginny finds her place.**

* * *

_There's four roads to anywhere,  
__Four ways to everything.  
We were unbreakable,  
We spoke our destiny.  
Let's take a moment out and go where we'd never go,  
Let's make a new world now._

_Where we can wear each other for a while__,  
I'll lend you my tears, if I could borrow your smile.  
We'll get through tomorrow- somehow today  
Happy After... _

_Once upon these days__.__  
_

_**-**__**These Days, by Chantal Kreviazuk**_

* * *

"-doesn't justify attacking you, or what he said to Harry-"

"- just heartless-"

"-on't be dramatic, George. His mental state is clearly compromised-"

"Stuff it, Perce."

Ron laid still, eyes closed, listening to his brothers' voices. He was lying on what he was sure was his old bed, but wasn't exactly sure how he'd ended up there, why his brothers were there or why he could smell his favorite homemade soup. He climbed back into awareness slowly... His limbs felt heavy, and his head ached, his mouth was dry. And why was his right hand aching?

"Where's Ginny?" Percy was asking.

"The light was on in Dad's shed when I came in... I think her and Harry went to call Hermione." That was George's voice.

Harry. Hermione. George. Suddenly, everything came back to Ron. His eyes snapped open. He was lying on his side, near the edge of the bed. Sitting on the floor in a circle were his brothers, a pot of their Mum's best soup- Ron's favorite- was on the floor between them, surrounded by the soft orange glow of a warming charm. Half empty bowls and plates of bread were scattered on the floor, and in the brother's laps. Charlie sat near the door, his bowl of soup balanced skillfully on one knee. Beside him, Percy sat, legs crossed, glasses perched near the end of his nose. Ron's face was a mere inches from the back of Bill's head; he was seated right by Ron's pillow. Keeping watch, no doubt- Ron was Bill's after all… Ron glanced up over Bill's shoulder and came face to face with George, who sat across from them, leaning against Harry's cot. George stared back at him, his expression blank. Someone had fixed his broken nose and bruised face, but a bit of blood still stained his collar, evidence of the earlier fight. Ron looked away quickly. He drew in a sharp breath, and in his sleepy panic, reached out and grasped the first thing his hand landed on- Bill's shoulder.

Bill jumped and spun around, nothing but relief in his eyes.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, setting his bowl on the bedside table before turning and laying a heavy hand on Ron's forehead. "How do you feel?"

Ron blinked. He was too exhausted to keep up just yet.

"Here." Percy appeared over Bill's shoulder, bowl in hand. The aroma steaming from it was intoxicating, and Ron suddenly realized he was starving. "You should eat."

Ron stared at Percy in silence, trying to comprehend what exactly was being asked of him. All he really felt like doing was going back to sleep. But Percy and Bill both looked concerned, and he was so hungry… when had he eaten last?

It was a struggle, but Ron managed to slide to the floor and sit between his older brothers. Percy placed the steaming bowl into his shaking hands and he murmured a virtually unintelligible thanks. He ate in silence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Percy and Charlie exchange glances, saw Bill looking at him with an odd expression on his face, saw George still staring at him- that blank expression on his face. Charlie and Bill spoke casually, about Charlie's work, about dragons mating and colonizing and the like. Percy refilled Ron's bowl twice before Ron finally waved him off. When he finally looked up, George had looked away.

"Alright. Alright, we're going to sort this all out now, alright?" Percy wrung his hands nervously as he spoke. Ron had a sudden urge to put a quill in his hands, or give him something to take notes on- anything to make his brother stop shaking. Ron looked down at his own hands, and saw that they too, trembled.

"This is bollocks-" Suddenly, George was getting to his feet. "I'm not sitting around for some sort of bloody intervention, I've got work to be doin-"

"George Gideon_._" Charlie's voice wasn't loud, but it was final. Ron was shocked, and by the looks on Bill and Percy's faces, so were they. If Charlie was pulling middle names, this was serious. "_SIT._"

The color drained from George's face, except for his ears, which turned beet red. He sunk back to his place on the floor without as much as a glance at anyone else.

"You know what's _bollocks, _George?" asked Charlie. His voice was low. Dangerous. Ron watched him glance at Bill, as if for support. Bill only nodded curtly. "Bollocks, is the _utter _lack of consideration you've got for anyone right now. You and Ron, fighting like animals-"

"He started it." Ron bit out, besieged by a sudden urge to stand up for himself.

"You little maggot."

Ron saw George reach for his wand, and he whipped out his own, ready to stagger to his feet despite his exhaustion. George hadn't done a thing to warrant a fight this time, but looking at him, seeing his gaunt face, dark eyes, and sick looking complexion made Ron angry with the world. So angry, he didn't care who he let it out on.

"Ron, don't!" Percy grabbed him by the shoulders as Charlie levitated the pot of soup aside so he could move forward to restrain George.

"Stay out of this, Percy-"

"George, put it away. Put your _effing wand away!"_

"Get off, Charlie-"

"_ENOUGH_."

Ron blinked. He was inches from George, his wand stuck somewhere between them. George's wand was poking him in the shoulder. Charlie and Percy were trying to pull them off of each other. Everyone froze and turned to their eldest brother. Ron swallowed as Percy's hold tightened on his shoulder. Charlie swore under his breath.

Bill was fuming. His face colored Weasley-red, mouth twisted into a vicious scowl. His eyes, an exact copy of their father's, was filled with a fury that could counter the great Molly Weasley. They were doomed.

"_Wands_." He demanded, hand held out. Ron and George obeyed immediately and Percy soon followed suit. Bill glared at Charlie. "Charles. You too."

Charlie scowled but handed his wand over as well. Bill added his own to the pile. He turned and opened the first drawer of Ron's bedside table, tossing the wands in. Percy winced, as the drawer was slammed shut with a crash and a clatter.

"This needs to stop." Bill hissed, eyes traveling among the other four. "We're tearing each other apart."

They all looked round at each other in silence. It was true. Ron had been arguing with George for days. Percy barely spoke to anyone. Charlie was in Romania. Bill had Fleur now. Ginny barely ever smiled. And Fred was gone.

"You aren't Fred." George said suddenly, voice hushed. He was staring at Ron again, a frightening sort of clarity in his eyes, as if he'd just realized that Ron was _Ron_, and not his dead twin.

"Er. No." Ron glanced at Charlie who looked as concerned as he felt. "I'm Ron."

George laughed, short and with little humor.

"I know who you are. Missing an ear, not a frontal lobe."

"You're a lot like Fred." Percy said quietly. Charlie nodded a little. "Same temper."

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his composure. He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to find it was George, who was now kneeling in front of him.

"I'm sorry, kid." he said.

"Why are _you_ sorry?" Ron looked down at his still bloody knuckles. He hit George, didn't he? Was he remembering this right? Why would George apologize?

"You're like, the puzzle piece that's almost the right shape, but not. And there's this empty space in the puzzle and I wanted it full, so I'm just forcing whatever piece looks like it might do." George's voice shook, but he smiled a little in spite of himself. "And I think I should stop, before I break you."

"Yeah." Ron just nodded. He'd never seen George so open and apologetic.

"You aren't the only one caught in the crossfire here-" George continued, looking suddenly sick with himself. "I practically forced myself on Alicia."

"George, _you didn't_." Charlie said, in disbelief.

"Huh." Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was just downright insanity, but suddenly, Ron started giggling. "Maybe that's why she's been shagging Lee in the supply closet."

"Is she?" asked George weakly. Ron nodded, still laughing. "That _is_ funny."

George started laughing too. And then Charlie. And next anyone knew, they were all rolling in a heap on the floor. Laughter turned to tears at some point and Ron ended up soaking George's shoulder with tears and Bill and Charlie were consoling a sobbing Percy.

"'M'sorry." Ron muttered. "Shouldn't have hit you."

"I deserved it. Been I real prat, I have." George ruffled Ron's hair as they pulled apart.

They all went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, moving to the twin's old room, because it was the biggest. George hesitated for a moment before crawling into Fred's old bed, curling into the sheets. Charlie slumped against the headboard next to him, rubbed his back absently. Bill and Percy bedded down on the floor between the two beds while Ron fell into George's bed. They all lay awake for a long while, in comfortable silence.

"We're all going to get through this." Percy said into the darkness. "This is the hardest thing we'll ever have to do, and we're never going to be okay with it, but we're all going to learn how to live our lives without him."

"We owe him that much." George added.

A little while later the bedroom door creaked open quietly and as Molly Weasley snuck in and kissed each of her sleeping boys. The next morning George would take the clock off the wall and open the face, gently removing the hand with Fred's name on it. He'd give his mother a tight hug and together they'd put the clock hand into a small wooden box that already carried similar hands labeled 'Gideon' and 'Fabian'. They'd take care of each other for now.

* * *

Harry slept fitfully that night. He went back to his apartment, Ginny at his side, and barely had the energy to pull on pajamas before falling into bed. Ginny sat next to him for a long time, running a hand through his hair.

"You should go," Harry said finally, after what felt like hours. He felt himself drifting, so exhausted after the day's events. But he wouldn't allow himself to sleep next to her. "Take Hermione's bed, she won't be back tonight."

"Ever the gentleman," Ginny murmured, showing no signs of intending to move.

"Your Mum-" just the thought of what Mrs. Weasley would say if he knew they had shared a bed made Harry's face burn.

"-is not here to see." Ginny interrupted. She shifted to the edge of the bed, began to untie Harry's trainers. "When she was my age, her and Dad were engaged to be married... Did you know?"

Harry shook his head, cracking open one eye to look at her. Her hair shone auburn in the moonlight. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on... Surely it wouldn't hurt to have her stay? After all, Bill had practically given them his blessing...

"They've been together since Mum was 15." Ginny was saying, as she deposited his shoes on the floor and crawled back up the bed, flopping down and laying her head on his shoulder. "Dad asked her to marry him just before they graduated."

This made sense to Harry. It was hard to imagine that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had ever not been perfect for each other. Soul mates. A thought occurred to him.

"Ginny," he said curiously. "Do soul mates exist? In the Wizarding world, I mean..."

Ginny looked up at him, a bemused expression on her face. "Why do you ask?"

"Well... It's just, you can have your soul sucked out by a Dementor, you can split it up into bits so..." he trailed off. It didn't really seem so ridiculous, or farfetched. If a soul could be broken or stolen, surely it could be joined with another?

Ginny nodded.

"I don't believe it's as literal as you're thinking... I doubt Hermione could even explain the magic behind it- it isn't something you can do with a wand- more along the lines of what your mother did for you..." Ginny's gaze drifted to his scar. "It just is."

"Just is." Harry repeated. Over Ginny's shoulder, on his bedside table, his parents danced and laughed in their little photo frame. It seemed almost too good to be true. "My mum used to hate my dad."

Ginny laughed.

"Oh Harry, I forget sometimes you were brought up by Muggles." she smiled and grasped his hand. "It isn't 'love-at-first-sight'. That's rubbish."

"Yeah, it is." Harry smirked, thinking briefly of Cho.

"Ever heard of a Wizarding couple splitting up after marriage? Muggles have a word for it-"

"Divorce." supplied Harry.

"Yes, that. We haven't got that... Not really. Very rarely do we marry the wrong person and need to leave. And it isn't like you haven't got a choice. You can be with whoever you want, but there's always going to be that one person..." Ginny looked like she might cry. "You remember at Bill and Fleur's wedding? When they were bonded?"

Harry nodded.

"Just a formality." Ginny whispered, her eyes still shining in the darkness. Her breath was hot on Harry's neck. "We're bonded long before any wedding... Whether we like it or not."

She wasn't talking about Bill and Fleur anymore. Harry felt warmth fill him in a way he'd never felt before. This had to be it, he thought, this must be what it feels like to know where you're meant to be.

"It's done, then." Harry said seriously. He took Ginny's hand in his.

"You think?" asked Ginny.

"I'm sure." Harry kissed her and then pressed his their foreheads together, smiling. "Let's hold off on the formalities for a few years though, yeah?"

"Oh, Harry." Ginny buried her face in his neck and Harry could feel her tears against his skin. He held her close, rubbing her back clumsily.

"Why are you crying?" Harry asked, taken aback. "Aren't you... you know, _pleased_?"

"You see the way Ron looks at Hermione... It's the same for them, I can tell." Ginny sniffed. "When we found out he'd been at Bill's, that he'd left you two- I was so scared, Harry. I was so scared you and Hermione were going to go off and get yourselves killed and then Ron and I would- we'd-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Harry said, squeezing her to him. Her shoulders were shuddering as she sobbed against him. He'd never seen her like this before- it tore at his heart and it killed him that he was partially to blame for this. He tried not to think of that night in Godric's Hollow, of how close to death they did come, of the two Weasleys they would have left behind. Ginny didn't need the details of that night. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Ginny. I'm not going anywhere, nothings going to happen to me, I promise."

And for the first time, that was a promise he thought he might actually be able to keep.

They fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. Harry woke in the night, once to Ginny crawling back into bed after going outside for some air, and again to her shaking him gently; a flash of green light and the sounds of Hermione's tortured screams and Ginny's weeping in the back of his mind.

Finally, he woke suddenly, to sun splashing through the window and onto the bed. He blinked in the brilliant light and turned his head. Ginny was still there, lying on her side, facing him. Her hair had come out of its ponytail and lay shining over Harry's pillow. Her hand was flat against his chest. He watched her for a moment before he glanced at his watch. He was supposed to watch Teddy for the day while his grandmother ran errands. Harry gently pulled himself away from Ginny, who stirred and opened her eyes just a bit.

"Go back to sleep," Harry whispered, feeling guilty; she'd been up half the night with him and had dark circles under her eyes. He pulled the covers up over her and laid a hand on the top of her head. "I'm going to pick up Teddy."

Kay," Ginny murmured, squishing her face into the pillow and going still once more.

Harry was already late to get Teddy, but he couldn't seem to get focused on the task at hand. His head was awhirl and his heart felt heavy. He'd kicked Ron out, probably when they needed each other the most. Hermione would be home soon and Ginny had just spent the night in his bed. On one hand, he wanted to feel ecstatic, wanted to jump and down with joy because Ginny loved him and Hermione was coming home, but still his excitement was weighed down by Ron's cruel and hurtful words, his obvious misery...

Harry pushed these thoughts out of his mind. _Teddy. Think about Teddy._

It was still an odd concept to Harry, being a godfather... He was young enough he could be Teddy's sibling, let alone some sort of guardian, and with how protective Andromeda was of her grandson, Harry felt most of the time like an over glorified babysitter- which to be honest was still pretty weird for him. He'd never had experience with children before, never held a baby before Teddy. Harry remembered vividly the first time he saw Teddy. It had been the day of Remus and Tonks' funeral, barely a week after the battle. He'd walked around the Burrow in a daze, the empty snitch that had once housed the Resurrection Stone clutched in one hand that remained in his pocket. Before the service, Andromeda had shown up with the baby.

"I thought Remus' boys should be together today." she'd said softly, placing the baby in Harry's arms and adjusting him to support the tiny head. "You meant a great deal to him, Harry."

Harry had only nodded, looking down at the little human in his arms. Teddy slept on, not yet old enough to know what he'd lost. But Harry knew. He knew the loneliness and grief he felt over never knowing his own parents, and knew that Teddy would feel it one day.

Walking down the hall of their little flat, Harry was distracted by a female voice coming from the kitchen.

"Aren't you just a sweetheart?" A moment later the sound of an infant's giggle joined the familiar voice. The cheerful tone threw Harry off at first but it only took him another second to realize who it was. He took the last three steps at a run and turned the corner.

And there in Harry's tiny little kitchen, standing at the counter with little Teddy Lupin against one shoulder, was Hermione.

Harry stood in the doorway for a minute and looked her over. She had tanned in Australia, her skin a light golden color he'd never seen on her. She'd cut her hair, and the loose curls fell neatly just at her shoulders. What threw Harry the most however, was her outfit: she wore a pale blue, knee length dress with capped sleeves and simple lace detailing, and though her feet were bare, a pair of white, heeled sandals lay on the floor next to the stove. She looked beautiful, healthier and happier than Harry had seen her in years.

She smiled at Teddy, and turning away from the stack of post on the counter, caught sight of Harry. She looked as shocked as he felt for a second, before her face lit up.

"Harry!"

"Hermione." Harry walked swiftly around the table and pulled her into his arms. Happiness filled him at the thought of having her home with them for good, and a hysterical laugh escaped him. "Hello."

"Hello, yourself." Hermione chuckled, giving Harry a tight, one armed squeeze. Between them, Teddy gurgled against Hermione's shoulder.

"I wasn't expecting you so early," said Harry, stepping back to look at her again. "And what are you _wearing_?_"_

Hermione scowled.

"I've just been to church with Mum and Dad. A load of rubbish if you ask me..." Hermione plucked nervously at the hem of the dress. "Is it that awful?"

"No! No, it's nice, looks great." Harry said swiftly, chuckling. "Ron will definitely approve."

Hermione blushed. Seeing her face flooded with color filled Harry with a sense of hope... Maybe they'd be alright after all. He met Hermione's gaze seriously.

"You look really good." he said, honestly, taking her free hand in his, pulling her towards their sitting room. "How're you feeling?"

"Better." she said softly, with a genuine smile. "A lot better."

"Good." Harry grinned and reached out to dig a gentle finger into Teddy's ribs. The baby laughed and squirmed. "Andromeda drop him off?"

"I met her in the Alley on my way up." Hermione nodded, her eyes searching Harry's face as she set the baby in his lap. "Now, the elephant in the room: you sounded rather upset last night on the phone."

Harry sighed.

"Have you been to Burrow yet?" he asked doggedly. Now that she was here in front of him, Harry found the last thing he wanted to talk about was Ron.

"Of course. Ron was asleep." Hermione said promptly. "All of his brothers are with him, and I thought I'd be more use to you right now. Now don't avoid me."

Harry shook his head

"You were crying." Hermione urged gently. Harry avoided her gaze, still tickling Teddy absentmindedly. Hermione tapped his leg and said sternly, "Hey! Look at me. What's he done to upset you like this?"

"It was stupid."

"I know you, Harry. You don't get like this over anything _stupid_. You two fought. He said something he's going to regret later, didn't he?"

Harry nodded. She knew. Of course she knew. Hermione Granger was the only person on the planet who could completely make sense of Harry and Ron.

"He got in Ginny's face." Harry said, voice low. He straightened Teddy's left sock; very aware of Hermione's eyes boring into him. "I told him to back off. He said I should stop trying to act like I belong there- with them."

Hermione blinked, looking appalled.

"He didn't mean it. I know he didn't. The second after he'd said it he tried to apologize, only I wouldn't listen. And don't you be mad at him. Because he's a been a wreck since you left and it might actually kill him if you two fight right now." Harry said quickly. His voice shook and suddenly he was tired. Exhausted. He didn't want to fight anymore, didn't want to explain himself or answer questions. All he wanted to do was go back to his bedroom and get back into bed with Ginny and just stay there forever. "Hermione, I kicked him out. I told him not to come home."

"You were supposed to take care of each other." Hermione shook her head a little.

"I should feed the kid." Harry whispered. Teddy had started to fuss, his face screwing up as if he could feel his godfather's pain. Harry picked him up and headed for the kitchen to get him a bottle, grateful for the chance to get away from Hermione before the waterworks started; he couldn't stand her disappointment. This must be what it feels like to be a girl, thought Harry, to be crying like this all the time. It sucked.

"It's coming, Ted, hang on a second." Harry said, bouncing the crying baby in one arm while trying to screw the lid on the bottle one handed. Fat tears leaked over the baby's pale face, his appearance- dark messy hair and green eyes to match Harry- faded into the soft shades of brown that he'd inherited from his father. Harry thought of Remus and his heart ached, and he was so close to breaking down and joining the baby in his sobbing. "Leave it to your Gran to hand you off to me on the one day you decide to be unpleasant."

The baby looked at Harry with Remus' eyes and whimpered. Harry thought of Ron's harsh words.

"We belong to the Marauders', mate... I know you've got your Gran, and I've got the Weasley's and Hermione, but our Dads- and Sirius- they were brothers. And I won't ever tell you that you don't belong in my family. I'm sorry I'm doing a rotten job of this." Harry sniffed, finally managed the bottle and offered it to the baby. Teddy sucked greedily, wide eyes never leaving Harry. "Your Mum and Dad would have done right by you. And it's my fault they aren't here."

Teddy emptied half the bottle before turning away with a wail. Harry dropped the bottle in the sink.

"Parents are selfish, if you ask me." Harry told the baby as he patted his back lightly. "Running off to fight wars and protect everyone. And here we are, left to look after ourselves."

Teddy hiccuped.

"Yeah, we forgive them." Harry sighed. "It's not that they didn't love us, is it? It's that they loved us too much."

Harry used his sleeve to scrub tears off his face, and then wiped at Teddy's nose.

"Look at the pair of us," Harry said as the little boy squirmed away from his cleaning attempts. "Getting snot all over each other. We'd best go face Hermione now, huh?"

Harry took a shaky breath as Teddy flailed his tiny arms and drooled on Harry's shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Waiting for them on the sofa, was not just Hermione, but Ginny too. The baby's crying must have woken her. Her hair was messed from sleep and she was still wearing the too-big T-shirt of Harry's that she'd gone to bed in. She and Hermione sat side by side on the sofa, slightly facing each other and clutching each other's hands over their touching knees. Harry watched them for a moment as they chatted quietly, heads together. It felt good, knowing that these two women, who he loved with all of his heart, were here for him when he needed them, close friends themselves; a united force.

Harry announced himself by taking another trembling breath, in an attempt to steady himself. The girls looked up at him. Both looked troubled. They'd been talking about him, or Ron. Or both.

"Oh, Harry-"

"Here, come and sit-"

They waved him over and made room on the sofa for him and Teddy. Harry sat between them, with the baby sitting against him on his lap, the both of them sniffing and gasping.

"Oh, this is just pathetic." Ginny said faintly. "There is nothing more miserable than crying orphans."

Hermione made a disapproving noise and shot Ginny a stern look, but a laugh bubbled inside of Harry, along with another not so pleasant sound that must have been a sob, because suddenly both girls had closed in on him. He sat, hunched over with his arms around his godson, and allowed himself to be coddled a little. Ginny wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head against his shoulder while Hermione rubbed his back. They didn't hush him or whisper nonsense like "it's going to be ok" and "don't cry" because they knew better. They knew him better than that. Instead, Ginny played peek-a-boo with Teddy over Harry's shoulder and Hermione told him he needed a haircut.

Sooner rather than later, his sobbing became less sobbing and more gasping for air. Hermione took Teddy from him and went to clean his tearful face in the kitchen.

"Oi, just breathe." Ginny urged, patting Harry on the back. "The sooner you calm down, the sooner this can be fixed."

But did he want it fixed...?

_Yes_.

He'd take screaming-yelling-crying-punching-people-Ron over no Ron any day. No questions.

"Right. Enough." Harry pushed himself up straight and took a few deep breaths. Ginny handed him a handkerchief, which he used to wipe his face and blow his nose. "Enough of this."

"Alright." Ginny nodded encouragingly. "Get up, then, and get going."

"I love you." Harry said, suddenly. Ginny smiled.

"I know you do," she said, kissing him. "Leave Teddy here. I'll bring him along in a bit."

"Thank-you." he said sincerely. They went to the kitchen where Hermione stood nervously by the stove. Teddy was in his carrier on the counter, settling down again.

"Let's go, Hermione." Harry said briskly.

"Go _now_?" asked Hermione, startled. "You're in pajamas..."

"You haven't got any shoes on." Harry countered. "Hurry up and get some. We're taking care of this right now. No ones wallowing in despair and throwing tantrums anymore, I've had enough."

Hermione blinked.

"I don't need shoes." she said faintly.

Ginny laughed. "Go already!" she exclaimed.

Harry kissed her swiftly, his face still damp with tears and then took Hermione's outstretched hand. Like they had so many times before, together they turned on the spot and dissaparated.

* * *

"Ron?"

"What?" At the Burrow's breakfast table, Ron lifted his head tiredly to look across the kitchen. His father stood at the window, looking out over the hill.

"When did you say Hermione was coming back?"

"To be determined." Ron said, unenthusiastically. From either side of him Bill and Percy gave him sympathetic looks.

"Well, son," Arthur Weasley turned away from the window with a smirk. "I think it's safe to say a date has been determined."

"No way." Charlie leaned over his father's shoulder to get a look out the window. "Oh bloody hell. Ron, the Calvary's coming!"

"Language, Charlie." Molly said absently, peeking past her son and husband. "Oh, she looks well, doesn't she? Could use with some feeding up though, I dare say. And where on Earth are her shoes?"

"Wait, what?" Ron jumped up from the table and clambered over George to get to the window. It couldn't be- she wasn't meant to be home for weeks- but there she was. Thin and an inch taller than Harry, as usual, but tanned and smiling and wearing the most feminine garment he'd seen her in since Bill's wedding. And she wasn't wearing shoes. And there was Harry, looking like he'd just jumped out of bed. And arm-in-arm, the two of them were coming down over the hill towards the house.

Ron swore loudly and turned on his heel, bolted towards the front door. By the time he clumsily shoved on a pair of trainers and got outside, they were barely 20 feet from the door. Harry released Hermione and hung back as she sprinted forward.

"What you said to Harry was really awful and I'm _so_ angry with you," she said all in one breath before flinging her arms around his neck. Behind her, Harry laughed, but Ron was too stunned, too overwhelmed to do anything but wrap his arms around her and cling.

He breathed deeply, drowning himself in her cinnamon and parchment scent. He had his hands everywhere, in her hair, which was shorter and tamer yet, just as gorgeous as ever, on her shoulders that were bronzed and freckled, around her back and waist, where she'd put on just enough weight to not feel fragile and weak anymore. She was babbling in his ear, scolding him for fighting with Harry, but Ron didn't care. She could be angry, he deserved it anyways, and she could yell at him forever and he'd be happy, as long as he never had to miss the sound of her voice again.

He was so happy, so purely ecstatic that he nearly forgot how worried he'd been. Nearly forgot the state she was in just a month ago, the barely improved condition in which she left. He remembered then, and his heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, his stomach twisted anxiously as he pulled away from her. He held her at arms length, and began to look her over.

When he'd taken her to the hospital, the Healers had shown him what to do, the signs to look for, so he'd know how to help her. He'd never paid so much attention to anything in his life. He'd memorized a list of Post-Traumatic Stress symptoms, knew the telltale signs of a flashback and the charm to manage hyperventilation. He knew how long she could go without keeping food down before she needed a Nourishment Potion. He learned how to take a pulse and count respirations and knew which were elevated enough to require a Calming Draught or a Panic-Relieving Potion; knew the correct dose for each potion and the proper procedure to follow in case of overdose.

Perhaps the most alarming of her condition had been when her panic began to trigger her asthma- a muggle illness that hadn't troubled her since she was a young child. The anxiety attacks, while distressing, couldn't physically harm her, but the thought of her not being able to breath, of something actually threatening her life, terrified Ron. He made Hermione teach him how to use the little muggle canister which the Healers had no substitute for, and he and Harry had each carried one with them at all times.

"How are you?" he asked her now, putting one hand on the side of her face as he ducked his head a little to look her in the eyes. They were tearful, but the emotion lurking there wasn't fear. His other hand found one of hers and he pressed two fingers to her wrist, finding the steady pulse beneath her soft skin. "Do you have your inhaler? I haven't got one on me, you should have told me you were comin-"

"Ron." Hermione's voice was strong and full of authority, the way he remembered it from before the war. "I'm fine."

"I can see that, but if you have an attack and we haven't got-"

"It's back at the flat, in my bag on the sofa table, and if you needed to you could Apparate there and back in 20 seconds. But I promise you, I'm _fine_."

And suddenly, there she was. Hermione. Not the empty shell he'd taken care of for weeks, or the falsely pleasant character that showed itself in letters from Australia. This was rational, independent, confident and spunky. This was _his_ Hermione. The one he was so afraid he'd lost.

"You came back." Ron's voice shook. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, urgently and passionately, how she had first kissed him in the midst of battle.

It didn't last long. Hermione pulled away after a moment and took a deliberate step backwards.

"I am very upset with the both of you." she said earnestly. She turned on Harry who was standing ten feet away, arms crossed, looking at his shoes. "Come over here."

As Harry drew nearer, Ron saw that his eyes were murky and bloodshot, his face tear stained. Guilt filled him, extinguishing the delight caused by Hermione's return.

"Harry." was all Ron could say. His throat stuck; he didn't know what else he could say. Luckily, Harry started for him.

"I'm not kicking you out, and I'm sorry that was my first reaction. I want you to come home," he said, still looking at the ground. His voice was raw and coarse, like he'd done a lot of shouting. Or crying. "But you really need to quit forcing me out."

"I didn't mean it-"

"It's not about that. I don't care what you said; it's how you've been acting. Shutting me out and acting like I don't understand how you feel." Harry said heatedly. He met Ron's gaze now and his eyes were blazing. "Your parents are mine too, ok? They're the only mum and dad that I'm ever going to get. And I've felt guilty even thinking it, because they're _yours_ and I've put them through so much. And I'm sorry if you don't really feel like sharing your family with me but it doesn't stop me from giving a damn about everybody in that house!"

Harry was shouting now and Ron knew everyone in the kitchen could hear him perfectly.

"You don't think it tears me apart that Fred's gone? You think I don't blame myself when your Mum starts crying when he realizes she's set one too many plates on the table! You're not the only person here that cares about them, Ron. And I get it, you and Hermione are together now, and I'm just some friend that-"

Harry broke of, voice catching and he turned away. Ron's heart sank. There it was. The abandonment he was sure Harry would feel over how their dynamic had changed.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry ignored him.

"Damn it, Harry, look at me." Ron said harshly, grabbing his friend by the collar and forcing him back against the house, pinning him easily. "You think this changes anything? Huh? After everything we've done for you, everything we've been through you think _this_ changes how we feel about you?"

Harry's silence answered the question for him. Ron couldn't help but feel angry.

"Think about what Hermione did for you. Lestrange _tortured_ her, and she kept her mouth shut. Do you know how fast anyone else would have cracked, and spilled everything just to make it stop?" Ron lowered his voice so his family in the kitchen wouldn't hear. "I want you to think about what that night did to her, and look her in the eyes and tell her you're just _some friend_."

Harry shut his eyes tightly, face screwed up in guilt and shame.

"She loves you. Alright?" Ron shook Harry a little; although more gentle now that his anger was subsiding. "And- Merlin, Harry, so do I."

Harry's eyes shot open. He looked at Ron, stunned. In all the years they'd been friends, neither had ever uttered such a thing to the other.

"I know, I know, we're blokes, we don't say that rubbish," Ron said hastily, ears turning pink. "So repeat that to anyone and I'll murder you in your sle-"

The rest of Ron's sentence was drowned out as Harry pushed himself off the house and hugged him.

"Secrets safe with me." Harry choked. Suddenly there was a hitched sob from behind them. Harry and Ron pulled apart a little and turned to Hermione who stood a few yards away, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You two are _so stupid_." She said, coming forward and wedging herself between them, an arm around each of their waists. "The two of you mean absolutely _everything_ to me, and I don't want either of you to ever doubt it."

Harry and Ron hugged her simultaneously.

"Oh, Merlin, sorry-"

Ginny had walked out the front door and right into their little group huddle. Ron reached out an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders to keep her from escaping.

"I owe you an apology-"

"No. I'm over it." Ginny smirked. She looked around at the three of them; all with tear filled, red rimmed eyes. "If I had known this was going to turn into a tear fest, I would have never suggested Harry call you, Hermione."

"What- you-" Ron looked shocked.

Ginny shrugged.

"When it comes to you boys, she's got all the right magic."

"Ginny, thank you-" Hermione pulled her into the circle, hugging her tightly. "I know that must have been difficult- I- we don't mean to exclude-"

"I get it." Ginny said, hugging back. "The three of you are all still standing here because of what you have together. I'd never ask you to change that."

Her hand found Harry's and squeezed.

"We love each other." Hermione said.

"We look after one another." Ron added.

"And sometimes," Harry gently tugged Ginny out of Hermione's arms and into his own. "We put our lives on the line to save the others."

Ginny blinked up at him, her own eyes filling as she realized what he- what the three of them- were trying to do for her.

She allowed Harry to hold her. Hermione's arm around her shoulders still, and Ron's hand ruffling her hair a little.

"That sounds really good to me."

* * *

**A/N: SO much happened in this chapter, but I'm so pleased with it. It really brings things to a bit of a blank slate for the next bit. The bit in this Chapter about Hermione having asthma may seem random, but its there for a reason. Before I wrote this story, I started writing a story about Hermione having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after the war. It's a short piece, about 4 chapters the length of this one. It mostly focuses on Ron and Hermione, and Harry, living in their flat for those first few weeks. When I decided to write this story, I took that idea and brought it over here. In that other story, Hermione has asthma, so I brought it over to this one. I just liked the idea of having that extra little problem that magic couldn't solve. **

**I'm wondering if some of you might like to see that other story. I know some of you have asked me to write some missing bits from that scenario, and this would be what you guys are asking for. It works hand in hand with this story.**

**If you'd be interested, please drop a review and let me know if there's anything specific you'd like to see in it! I may edit it up all pretty and post it as a companion to this story.**

**Don't forget to review and let me know how you liked this chapter! THANKS. **

**-Laine**


	11. Confess Your Love

**Chapter Eleven / Confess Your Love**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. 3 months after the Battle at Hogwarts. (August 1998)**

**In this chapter, Harry and Ron join the Aurors. Hermione doesn't approve.**

* * *

_Can you lie next to her,  
and give her your heart, as well as your body?_

And can you lie next to her,  
and confess your love, as well as your folly?

_And can you kneel before the King,  
and say 'I'm clean'?_

_I'm clean._

_Oh tell me now,  
where was my fault?_

_In loving you, with my whole heart?__  
_

_**-White Blank Page, by Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

After the hurt, there comes healing. The Wizarding World was doing just that: healing. Wars and wounds couldn't hold them down, and slowly but surely, a community, friends and families, parents and children alike, were rewinding and rebuilding, facing on a new, but still uncertain future…

August was winding to a close, and for the first time in a long time, it seemed like everything was falling into place. Percy, Bill, and Mr. Weasley had all finally gone back to work, and although not even comparable to his former self, George seemed to be coping, and was tolerable, if not pleasant company on most days. Although still wholly aware of what they'd lost, the Weasley family was moving on, and could even get through a dinner together without someone bursting into tears or storming out in a rage.

In the tiny flat above the bookshop in Diagon Alley, a sense of normalcy filled the air. After two weeks of time off, Ron had finally returned to working alongside George at the joke shop. A few of his mother's home cooked meals, and a few days of sleep had cheered him greatly, and coupled with Hermione's return his laid back attitude and casual smiles were returning. It seemed as if they fed off of each other, Ron and Hermione, and just as her return had done wonders for Ron's well being, his contentment seemed to be the last piece in the puzzle to returning her to full health. She took on a part time job at the bookstore beneath them, cleaning shop and helping Mrs. Poppitch decide which books to order, and packing away new shipments. Occasional nightmares still disturbed Hermione, but her panic could now be sedated with hot tea and warm hugs, both of which Ron volunteered eagerly. The numerous bottles of calming and sleeping potions that had once sat prepared on the first shelf in the kitchen, were now tucked away in the highest cupboard, growing dusty behind a case of butterbeer and Harry's old Potion's cauldron.

Perhaps the biggest improvement came in Harry. With both his best friends back to almost normal, and Ginny at his side, Harry's delight became infectious. With no Dark Lord or battle looming, no school to take up his time, and no immediate need for employment, Harry grasped his first real chance at freedom. He spent hours, days, and entire weekends with Ginny, in the Alley, and at the Burrow. He brought Teddy home with him as often as Andromeda would allow, and was quickly becoming an expert in all things infant. He visited Neville, had lunch with Luna, and spent afternoons with Mrs. Weasley, who was teaching him how to cook with magic. He could take his broom and fly when he wanted, to wherever he wanted, and it was exhilarating.

Hermione seemed to have permanently moved into Ron's room, and the room at the end of the hall slowly filled with Ginny's things, as she came to stay with them on the weekends, and wouldn't dare sleep in Harry's bed with her brother across the hall. The four of them went to muggle cities together, ate dinner and saw films, and came back to the flat to drink butterbeer and play Exploding Snap. Sometimes, on Saturday nights, Hermione would join Ginny in her little room, and Ron and Harry would both lie awake late into the night, listening as the girls chatted and sang old muggle music off-key. They fell asleep to what they agreed was the best sound in the world, their sisters and girlfriends, the women they cared for most in the world, laughing in childish, carefree joy.

It wasn't perfect. But it was close enough.

It really did seem as if everything was coming together, as if they could stay this way forever, and never have a worry again. Until a quiet and wonderfully ordinary Saturday morning at the very end of August, when Harry looked up to find a big brown owl staring at him through the window. Setting his broomstick and jar of polish on the sofa table, Harry stood slowly and inched his way across the little living room.

"Oi, Harry, have you seen- Blimey, is that a Ministry owl?" Ron's head appeared in the doorway, looking perplexed.

"Looks like…" Harry reached forward apprehensively, untying the letter from the owl's leg. As soon as it was relieved of its burden the big barn owl turned with a ruffle of its feathers and took once again for the skies. Harry turned the thick envelope over in his hands to see the names printed there.

_Miss Hermione Granger_

_Mr Harry Potter_

_Mr Ronald Weasley_

_Flat Number 47_

_Diagon Alley, London_

"It's addressed to all of us."

"All of us?" Ron echoed, coming into the room to peek over Harry's shoulder. "You reckon they've finally decided to charge us? I mean we did break into a bank. Stole a dragon."

"Er, I think we're alright on that front, mate." Harry said, distracted. Quickly he ripped open the side of the envelope and pulled out a folded wad of parchment. He opened it and held it so Ron could see. 

_Miss Granger, Misters Potter & Weasley,_

_As you may have seen in this morning's paper, it has come to our attention here at The Ministry that the safety of our world may still be under threat. Upon receiving permission from the Malfoy Family, their manor was thoroughly searched and investigated. This search produced written records of everyone ever in service to The Dark Lord. As such, we have come to realize that there may be many more of his followers in hiding than previously thought._

_On behalf of the Minister for Magic, we would like to inform you of the current efforts and actions being taken to secure these remaining at large followers of He Who Must Not Be Named. An Auror Task Force has been working in alliance with the cooperation of The Malfoy Family to locate and capture the dozens of known Death Eaters who remain in hiding._

_It is at this time, that we here at the Auror department would also like to offer each of you positions on the Auror Task Force currently in action. Kindly send your reply by owl as soon as possible. You will be contacted with further information regarding your place with the Aurors, and any concerns regarding your safety, and that of your families may be addressed at this time._

_Please keep safe and on your guard._

_Sincerely,_

_**John Dawlish**_

_Head, Auror Department_

_Ministry of Magic_

Upon reaching the end of the brief letter, Harry stood, shocked into silence. It took a few moments for Ron to catch up to the end of the page, but as soon as he had, he let out a flustered splutter.

"Wait- _what?"_

Harry spun round to face Ron, letter held aloft in one hand, empty envelope in the other.

"The paper." Harry said instantly. "We need the newspaper."

"Yeah, the paper…" Ron nodded, looking uncomfortable. "Right."

"What is it?" Harry asked, impatiently, as he followed Ron into the kitchen. Hermione was waiting for them, The Daily Prophet held aloft, her eyes questioning.

"How did we not realize?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. "Of course they weren't all apprehended, how _stupid_ we've been!"

"Hermione, calm down." Ron said absently, taking the paper from her and spreading it across the table. He and Harry leaned over it. Underneath a bold, dramatic headline, the Death Eaters names were published, the list stretching the length of the front page.

"Rookwood." Harry read aloud when he found the name they'd both been searching for. Ron was shaking so hard he was causing the table to rattle on its slightly uneven legs. Behind them, Hermione was still standing in the middle of the floor, her eyes unfocused.

"We don't even lock our door." she said faintly.

"If they'd wanted to get to any of us, they'd have done it already, locked door or not." Ron said, running a hand through his hair. He took the Ministry letter out of Harry's hand and handed it to Hermione. "This just came for us."

She took the letter and scanned it quickly.

"Of course," she said, "I'm not surprised. Their force has been nearly cut in half, your Dad said. Neville signed up last week."

"Well what do we do?" Ron asks.

"We reply to the Ministry." Harry said instantly. "Look, no pressure, you two take your time, make your decisions, but I'm going. I'm doing it."

"Of course you are!" Ron grinned wryly. "Not much of a choice to make. Right, Hermione?"

"Sorry, what?" Hermione tore her eyes away from the letter and looked up. Her eyes darted from Ron to Harry and back again, looking a little overwhelmed. "I- I can't."

"What?" Ron asked blankly, staring at Hermione.

"I'm not joining." she repeated, her voice firm. "Look, Harry, Of course you can't say no to such an amazing career opportunity, I mean the Aurors, they're usually so strict about applicants."

"But?" asked Ron.

"But... Before I met the two of you, I was an eleven-year-old bookworm with bad teeth. I never planned for this, to spend my life fighting. We got out. I'm not jumping back in again. Harry, no offense..."

Harry grinned and reached over to squeeze her hand.

"Absolutely none taken. Can't say I planned for any of this either."

"Right, well." Ron recovered himself from Hermione's little speech and turned back to Harry. "We should get down there right away. The sooner we get our names on their list the better, I say."

"Yeah." Harry looked down at himself. He had broomstick polish smeared down his front. "Hang on, I'll change."

He left the room and Ron returned his attention to Hermione who was staring at him, a shocked expression on her face.

"Whats wrong?" he asked her.

"You're joining?"

Ron blinked. Why did that surprise her so much?

"Er- yes?"

"Why on Earth would you consider such a thing?" Hermione demanded, her tone impatient. She took a step forwards to put herself uncomfortably close to Ron, as she often did when getting ready to give him a good scolding.

"Because it's the right thing to do." Ron said evenly. "What's the matter with you?"

"The matter with me? What about you? How can you even think of leaving George at a time like this?" Hermione was positively shrieking now. "He's just lost his brother!"

"So did I!" Ron roared. The little bubble of anger that had been lying inside him since Fred's death was threatening to explode. "And I'll like to bloody well catch the bastard that killed him!"

"At what cost?" demanded Hermione. "It's a dangerous profession, and you're mother doesn't need anything else to fret over, you know-"

"Yeah, because 3 dozen Death Eaters on the loose and itching for revenge, that's nothing to fret about!" Ron glared at Hermione and took a step back to regain some personal space. It had been a while since they fought like this, he realized. "What's this about, anyways? I didn't think we were going to do this anymore, now that... You know."

"Now they we're a couple? Oh, for God's sake, Ron, don't be a child." Hermione snapped as Ron blushed scarlet. "And couples argue! If you think a good snog will get you out of trouble, then you are sadly mis-"

"WHAT AM I IN BLOODY TROUBLE FOR!"

"FOR LEAVING ME!"

Hermione's shriek echoed through kitchen and a glass on the counter shattered.

Harry chose that moment to reappear, and he stood gaping in the doorway. The kitchen was nearly silent, the only sound coming from Ron, who was breathing heavily, his hands in fists at his sides. He took several steps backwards to get away from Hermione, his eyes wide. Hermione had slapped both hands over her mouth and was staring at the broken glass, seemingly horrified with her own outburst.

"I'm- oh, Ron, I'm sorry." She whispered from behind her trembling fingers. She stepped forward, and tried to take Ron's hand, but he wrenched himself out of her grasp.

"Don't touch me." He snapped. "For the love of Merlin, Hermione, control yourself!"

Ron stormed angrily from the room, and down the hall. His bedroom door slammed with a mighty crash, and dishes rattled on the kitchen shelves.

Harry looked across the silent kitchen at Hermione.

"You should go somewhere, calm down a bit." He said, quietly.

"Oh, don't you be mad at me too!" Hermione cried, tears splashing down her front, her chest heaving with sudden sobs.

"No, I'm not…" Harry said. He crossed the room and held out his arms awkwardly. "Come here."

Hermione allowed him to hug her, and tucked her head against his shoulder.

"You should know better than to use that against him, you know how guilty he feels." Harry scolded lightly. Hermione only hiccupped in response. "And you know he'd die rather than leave you again."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Hermione shuddered.

"Hermione- _don't._" Harry pulled away from her and gave her a stern look. "It's not even worth getting worried about. We don't even know what we'll be doing yet; they might decide we're useless and stick us at desks. Why don't you go to the Burrow? Hang out with Ginny for the day…"

Harry handed Hermione his handkerchief and let her wipe her face. When she'd calmed down a little he gave her a kiss on the cheek and a pinch of floo powder and sent her off through the fireplace. Then, bracing himself for a moment, he headed down the hall to Ron.

Harry had been Ron's best friend for a very long time. And being someone's friend that long- especially living in close quarters at school for most of the year- tended to put you in tune with someone. And Harry was in tune enough with Ron to notice how the redhead sometimes shied from certain situations. He'd noticed it first in their first year at Hogwarts, after their little trip past Fluffy, Ron had been especially quiet, even leaving the End of Year Feast early to go back up to the boy's dormitories to lie down. In the years following, Harry had picked up on Ron's discomfort, and always attributed it to the noise of a particularly rowdy lesson, or the heat of the crowded common room, and would make excuses for Ron when he took to his bed early.

Harry had asked him about it once, at Grimmauld Place, when they were 15. Ron had shrugged and blushed a little. 'I get headaches sometimes' he'd muttered, and Harry let the subject drop. It was only after their capture at Malfoy Manor, that Harry learned the truth. Under the safety of Shell Cottage, and after the scare of nearly losing Hermione, Ron had admitted to the both of them that he was a Sensitive. A Sensitive, as Hermione had been eager to explain, was a gifted witch or wizard who could sense the force of magic inside a person, as well as the emotions that drove it. Ron had been quick to assure them that he was far from gifted; that Sensitives were common among pure bloods and that the most he got out of it was a sore head and a buzzing in his ears.

It had all made sense to Harry and Hermione then: Ron's outwardly blunt nature, quick temper, and caring attitude all stemmed from his sensitivity. Ron felt people's magic, and it gave him just a tiny bit more insight into a person that the average wizard could grasp. Unfortunately, it also gave him a tiny bit more discomfort from wearing Riddle's horcrux- just enough to send him over the edge, and running away.

Harry arrived in front of Ron and Hermione's bedroom and knocked gently on the closed door. When he heard a muffled response from inside the room he pushed the door open a little and took a step inside. The room was dark and Harry could barely make out the figure seated on the edge of the bed.

"It's me, mate." Harry announced himself quietly.

"I know." Ron's voice came out of the darkness, calm, but wavering slightly.

"Hermione's gone to the Burrow. I can leave too, if you need-?"

"No." Ron cut him off rather quickly. "You're fine. You're never as loud as she is."

This was how Ron described the magic he felt. In volume and sounds, shapes and feelings, and occasionally colors.

"Where's the light?" Harry asked as he felt his way through the dark bedroom towards Ron.

"Oh- sorry, here-"

Harry heard the familiar click of the Deluminator, and light doomed back into the lamp that Harry was about to walk in to. In the light, Ron was revealed, perched on the edge of the neatly made bed (definitely Hermione's handiwork), his long legs folded beneath him. His face was pinched as he stared down at the floor.

"It's not just light." He said, gesturing towards the Deluminator in his hand. He didn't look up at Harry. "It sucks all the extra magic out of the air. Dumbledore was one too… like me."

This didn't surprise Harry. He sat down on the bed, his shoulder touching Ron's and he felt the tension drain out of Ron as he clicked the Deluminator and the light went out again.

"You're like Bill." Ron said, "Quiet. Level."

"I find that hard to believe." Harry snorted.

Ron shrugged in the darkness.

"You weren't always. Used to wake me up sometimes, when you were dreaming"

The two sat in silence for a while, both caught in silent thought. When Ron's shaking had calmed down, Harry spoke again.

"What's Hermione like?"

Ron remained silent for so long that Harry didn't think he was going to answer.

"It's like she's wound up too tight." Ron said finally, his voice heavy. "It's this tight tiny little ball. It hums when she's happy, same way she does."

Harry grinned. The boys had discovered that Hermione would hum, or sometimes sing to herself when she was in a good mood, when she thought no one was listening.

"When she's really thinking about something it buzzes and I can tell when she's upset, 'cause it skips- flashes all wrong. And then she gets mad and it all unravels. Explodes and bounces about like firecrackers. It's best when she calms down… if she reads, or when she's sleeping… it gets really warm and gentle. It's nice."

Ron fell silent again, and Harry knew he was blushing in the darkness.

"Doing a bit better now?" Harry prodded.

"Yeah." Ron nodded a little. "I should go talk to her."

"Right now?" Harry asked, mock surprise in his voice. "Hermione and Ron, fighting and making up all in the same day? I don't believe it!"

"Oh bugger off." Ron shoved Harry to the floor and stepped over his laughing form to get to the door.

* * *

A few hours later finds Ron walking across the apple orchard behind the Burrow, towards two young women sitting under a tree. There is a blanket spread out underneath them, and they've kicked off their shoes and rolled up their pant legs to get some sun. Ron stops at a distance and watches them for a few moments before walking up and clearing his throat to announce himself.

Hermione and Ginny look up and their conversation dies quickly. Hermione turns her face away when she sees him, but he still spots the tears before she can wipe them away. Ginny gets up and takes the few steps to her brother, and they stand, side by side, facing in opposite directions for a moment.

"Harry's up at the house." Ron says, by way of greeting. Ginny just nods.

"I know what I've signed up for with Harry." Ginny said calmly. "I already know what it feels like to sit and wait, not knowing if he'll come home safe. Hermione is scared to live that life. I don't blame her."

It was Ron's turn to nod as Ginny walked past him and off towards the house.

"Well, come and sit down." Hermione said briskly, dragging her sleeve across her eyes and looking up at him with a dry face. Ron gave her a tiny wry smile and threw himself down on the blanket beside her. His hand found hers, and for a long while they sat in silence, watching as off in the distance Ginny skipped the last few steps up the yard and playfully leapt into Harry's arms.

"I'm afraid." Hermione whispered.

"Tell me why." Said Ron.

She turned and met his gaze, her eyes free of tears but full of worry.

"I'm afraid you're only doing this to get Rookwook. Just for revenge," she said, softly. "I'm afraid it will make you bitter, and you'll do something rash and get yourself hurt."

As she spoke, Ron gently rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal the fading scar on her inner forearm. He turned her arm over so the words were facing up to the both of them.

"Ron, what-?"

"This is what they think of you, Hermione." he said, shortly.

Hermione looked horrified, and tried to pull her arm free of his grasp. He held on.

"Stop it, Ron!"

"I'm sorry, I know it upsets you, but I need you to understand." Ron grasped her chin with his free hand and brought her face up to meet his. "I could have lost you that night. These people would have killed you, out of nothing but hatred and cruelty, and as long as they're walking free you're in danger."

"Ron, nothing's happened-"

"I know. And we could let this be, we could live the rest of our lives and they may never come after us again… But I'm not prepared to take that chance. I will not risk your life."

"And what about your own?" Hermione pleaded, tears pooling in her eyes once again. She pulled her hands free of Ron's grasp and gripped the front of his shirt. "Ron, _please_."

Ron gently took Hermione's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

"Please don't cry. Look, I know how you feel. All that time at Bill's, I didn't know where you were, or if you were alright, and it hurts like hell, I know, and I'm sorry to put you through that. But I _can't_, Hermione, I can't let this go." Ron whispered. "I can't walk away anymore. I won't leave you unprotected, ever again. I made that mistake once, and that was one too many."

"Promise me, that you'll always come home to us, Ron, promise me that."

Ron swallowed thickly, his heart sinking at the thought of making a promise that he might not be able to keep. He tried to talk sense, tried to reveal the logic he knew was lying just behind her eyes, expose the truth, that something may happen to him, that he simply could not promise such a thing. But for whatever reason, he looked into her eyes, those big, brown eyes, filled to the brim with knowledge and affection, and he could only utter one word.

"Always."

* * *

**A/N: I'm extremely sorry for how long it's taken to get this chapter out. I got really stuck at a few parts, and I've cut a lot out that I wasn't happy with, so it's also a bit short.. but hopefully you all enjoyed it anyways. **

**If you haven't done so, I suggest you go ahead and read my other story, Revival. It's set in the same Universe as this one, and it only has two chapters so far, but it explains a bit more of Ron being a Sensitive.**

**Thank you SO much to my faithful readers who stick with this story, and review every chapter, even though I'm so slow writing them. Your support means so much, and I'm writing this for you guys.**

**Let me know what you thought!**

**-Laine**


	12. Rolling Like A Stone

**Chapter Twelve / Rolling Like A Stone**

**TIME STAMP: Approx. 3 months after the Battle at Hogwarts. (August 1998)**

**In this chapter, George and Angelina have a chat, and realize they have more in common than they thought.**

* * *

_It's gonna take a long time to love,  
it's gonna take a lot to hold on._

_It's gonna be a long way to happy._

_Left in the pieces that you broke me into,  
torn apart, but now I've got to,  
keep on rolling like a stone._

'_Cause it's gonna be a long, long way,  
to happy.__  
_

_**-Long Way To Happy, by P!nk**_

* * *

It isn't like George spent his life _stuck_ to Fred. It isn't like they were one being, one mind, split in two.

Sure, they were twins.

But they weren't the same person. Weren't the carbon copies of each other that most people seemed to perceive them as.

George remembers clearly the first, and probably only time that he hated being a twin. He was eight years old, and had been trying to impress a muggle girl in the village by making dandelions disappear into thin air, a magical trick he'd mastered behind his mother's back. He remembers making the girl shriek with delight and thinking maybe he would finally have a girlfriend like the ones Charlie always had at Hogwarts. He remembers the anger he felt when Fred came along and the girl confused their names and seemed to prefer Fred's trick of making the dandelions reappear out of thin air. He remembers stalking up to the house alone. Getting upset and asking his parents, Why did he have to look like Fred? Why did they have to be twins? Why couldn't anyone ever tell them apart? And his father sitting him down and giving him the best bit of advice anyone had ever given him, _"There are going to be a lot of people in your life, who will see the two of you as one, as twins and nothing else. They'll forget your names and think you're copies of each other. But the ones who take the time to get to know you, who take the care to tell what makes each of you special, those are the people who really matter, George."_

And yeah, most of the time, people didn't seem to get that. People still acted like Fred was George and George was Fred, and telling them apart wasn't a huge deal. But they knew who they were and how they were alike and how they were different, and isn't that what counted?

And yeah, they lived in the same flat, and ran the same business, and slept in the same bedroom in their twenties. But they spent time apart too.

George spent more than a few nights a week drinking and tearing up and down the Alley with Lee and Alicia. And Fred spent more time at Angelina's then he ever did at home. Right after they'd left school, in the weeks before they opened shop, they went their own ways. Saw the world. Fred went to America- met a witch in California who taught him some bizarre sport called surfing, and came back home with sun-bleached, strawberry-blonde hair and a crude muggle tattoo of pair of dice on his forearm. George had spent nearly a month in Romania, where he rode dragons and learned nearly fluent German from Charlie's roommate. They were surprisingly good at time apart, Fred and George. Days, weeks, nearly months apart, reunited with nothing more than a rough hug and a butterbeer, like they'd never left each other.

George was used to time alone. He was used to being without Fred. And so sometimes, it hits him hard when he realizes this time, Fred isn't coming back.

The sun is setting low over Diagon Alley as George flips the sign on the door to the shop, getting ready to close for the day. He winds his way up the shop, through the shelves and displays, straightening packages as he hums a Weird Sisters tune to himself. Coming to halt in front of the register, he stumbles for a moment, failing to remember his own code number, and instead, punches in Fred's simpler combination of 3's and 6's. The till pops open and he collects the day's gold into a small Gringotts sack.

He hears the office door open and close behind him, and footsteps across the wooden floor. He turns around, with Fred's name on his lips, ready to ask his twin where the day's receipts are when he realizes it isn't Fred standing behind him.

"Alright, we're out of here," Alicia says, absentmindedly rummaging through her bag for her key. "Lee's gonna lock up."

It hits him like an angry hippogriff. _Fred's not here. He hasn't been all day. And he won't be ever again. And you've gone nearly all day without so much as giving him a second thought._ The pain comes back threefold, as if it has to make up for the few hours it was absent and the weight in his chest is suddenly so physically heavy he's not sure he can stand. Alicia pauses in her search and tilts her head to the side, studying him carefully.

"George?"

The bag of gold slips from his shaking hands and hits the floor, Sickles and Knuts spilling over the uneven floor panels. George grabs the side of the counter as his knees buckle and he slides to sit on the floor, blood rushing in his ears. He hears Alicia saying something, registers her hand on his arm, but all he can think about, all he can _feel _is the emptiness. The hollow hole in his mind, _in his soul_, where his brother should be.

He's never dealt with trauma very well. He's always been a really _fucking happy _person. Always driven by the positive, but shaken to his core by the negative. He remembers the first war- he was young, barely even two at the time, but he remembers the feeling of fear even at that young age. And very vividly in the back of his mind, is a night when his father woke him and Fred and huddled them in Charlie's room, and they all watched as wand-fire danced outside their windows and the orchard went up in flames. He remembers the night Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. Remembers Oliver sitting him in an armchair in the Common Room, telling Lee to fetch Fred. He'll never forget that night: Fred racing into the room asking _"Who've they taken?"_ and the look of devastation on his face when George told him it was Ginny.

He's not sure how long he sits there on the shop floor, the world a blur of sound and color around him, every breath a struggle as his whole body trembles. When he comes back to himself, Alicia is snuggled up next to him, forehead pressed against his cheek, and Lee is on his knees in front of them, one hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, G?" he asks casually, the darkness behind his eyes the only giveaway of his concern.

"Fine." George croaks, reaching out and grabbing the first thing his hand comes in contact with- Alicia's knee. She clutches back and Lee tightens his hold, grounding them both.

"You don't have to do this." Alicia says, her voice pleading. "You don't have to feel guilty for letting yourself live."

"Leesh- I can't-" George struggles to get the words out, to let himself be so open. "I can't let myself forget he's gone, even for a second. I can't forget that."

"No one's forgetting, G." Lee says, forehead creasing.

"I spend every second of every day waiting for him to walk through the door. And every day he doesn't it's like losing him all over again."

"He isn't coming back, George." Lee tries to sound stern, but his voice shakes a bit near the end.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't want to fucking _die_ every single day when I wake up knowing that he's six feet in the ground under my parents' bloody orchard?"

George shakes Alicia away from him and throws Lee's hand away suddenly feeling suffocated. He stares past his friends' sullen faces at the coins littered over the floor. There's silence. And then, the shop door opens, the bell tinkling merrily.

"We're _closed_!" George calls, rudely. The voice that answers is hesitant.

"It's- I'm not- it's just me."

George, Lee, and Alicia all scramble up to peek over the counter at the visitor. Angelina is standing there, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Her eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, and her hands are wound tightly in the straps of a rucksack that George recognizes as Fred's.

"Angie." Alicia hurries to her feet and rushes around the counter to give her friend a hug, while Lee waves at her from his place next to George.

Angelina hugs Alicia back and then takes a hesitant step forward, looking straight at George.

"I- I was hoping- I mean, I'd like to talk to you."

George is silent, staring at Angelina over the shop counter. He wonders, not for the first time, what Fred would have done in this position.

Their group of friends was far from simple, from solid. Oliver was a year older, and out of country half the time. Lee and Fred were spit fires, out of control and in a land of their own, with George tearing along behind. Alicia was free and loving and threw herself in and out of their lives as she pleased. And Angelina was quiet and reserved and more independent than the rest combined. While Oliver had always gotten on well with the girls, and Lee was always fancying one of them, the twins always seemed split down the middle. Fred loved Angelina, he had for a long time, but she and George always seemed to clash. Alicia was George's safe haven; everything he had ever wanted or needed in a friend, and sometimes something more.

George looks at Alicia now, where she stands with a nervous look on her face and tears in her eyes, clutching Angelina's hand. Fred liked Alicia, but they were never close, never interacted outside of the group, or Quidditch. What would he have done had he been the one standing here? George knows. He knows Fred, despite temper and tantrums, was full of emotion and affection, and had more love to give in his short life than most people had in a hundred years. Fred would have welcomed Alicia with open arms, would have offered comfort and taken it.

"You know, it's getting late, I shouldn't have-" Angelina interrupts George's thinking as she smiles shakily and turns to leave.

"Tea?"

George speaks, surprising even himself. He clears his throat awkwardly and gestures towards the back stairs that lead up to the apartment. Angelina blinks at him and then nods, giving him a grateful smile.

George walks Lee and Alicia to the front door. He lets Alicia hug him and kiss his cheek, shakes Lee's hand and promises he'll floo if he needs anything; he'll come to Lee's if he doesn't want to be alone. Finally they step out onto the dark cobblestone street and George lets the door lock with a sharp snap behind them. He shuffles awkwardly up the stairs in silence with Angelina behind him, and lets her into the dimly lit apartment.

"Sorry 'bout the mess." He says softly, as he clears his pillow and bed sheets off of the couch, throwing them unceremoniously into a pile by the closed bedroom door.

"It's fine." Angelina's voice is nearly a whisper as she sits near the end of the now clear sofa, setting Fred's rucksack in her lap, still twisting her fingers in the fabric. George shifts from foot to foot, trying not to feel awkward.

"Er, tea…"

"Right."

"Milk and sugar?"

"Yeah, thanks."

George is grateful for an excuse to escape to the small kitchen. He tries to talk himself down as he heats water and pulls out dusty mugs. _Buck up, you sorry prick. She was Freddie's girlfriend, there's no reason not to talk to her. There was never any reason you two didn't get along, just get over it. _He pulls a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey down from the cupboard and splashes a generous bit into his own tea. He pauses for a moment and then throws caution to the wind and spikes Angelina's as well before picking up both cups and making his way back into the small living space.

"Here." George says softly, gently pushing the warm mug into Angelina's hand. She startles a little as he sits next to her and when she looks as him he sees tears still pooling in her eyes. _Fred._ George thinks. _Do it for Fred. _"How- How've you been?"

Angelina shrugs a little; the miniscule smile on her lips a bitter one. Her eyes remain focused on her lap, avoiding her surroundings. George realizes, with a pang of involuntary sympathy, that this is the first time she's been in this apartment without Fred. Angelina takes a single sip of her tea before setting it on the small sofa table and tilting her self to face George.

"Look, I didn't come here for comfort," she says, evenly. She tries to meet his eyes, but keep looking away, at her own hands, at his. "So you don't have to pretend to care, or listen to what I have to say, bu-"

"Ange."

She freezes, because George doesn't call her that. The others do. Fred did. But not George.

George isn't even sure why he's just said it. To offer her some comfort perhaps, or to make himself feel more comfortable. To trick them both into believing they're closer than they really are.

"Don't-" she turns away again, a chill in her voice and a sob in her throat. "Don't, please- you aren't him-"

"I'm sorry, I know. Angelina, _I know_. Look, please just listen to me." George puts down his tea and grabs her hands in his. They're both shaking. He's surprised to find himself sincere as words start to pour out of his mouth. "I'm not going to try and tell you what he would have told you, because I _don't know._ But what I do know if that he loved you- _so much_."

"I know." Angelina is sobbing right-out now, and it makes George uncomfortable and its breaks his heart all at the same time.

"I haven't been fair to you." He says, trying to keep his own emotions at bay. He's cried too many tears in the past few weeks, he doesn't think he has anymore to give, yet still his eyes are growing moist, his throat sticking. "I'm so _so_ sorry. God, Fred would _kill me_ if he knew how I've been treating you."

Angelina squeezes his hand in hers and brings the other to her face, wiping quickly at the tears that are falling there. She takes a shaky breath and when she speaks her voice is low and trembling.

"I don't blame you, George. I think everyone assumes that I'd take comfort in seeing you; but- you aren't the same people, you and him. You never have been. I just thought I could help, you know? Fred told me once, that he always knew where you were, always knew how you felt, whether or not you were alright… and I knew how much it would have torn him apart if he couldn't do that anymore, if he couldn't tell if you were alright-"

Angelina stumbled over her words, seemingly wanting to get as much out as she could before she lost her nerve.

"I know there's something more- when we're done here in this life, there has to be somewhere else for us to go, and wherever he is, I just want to know that he's _alright_, and George, I know that if anyone wants that as much as I do, it's you, and I just thought that I could help- that maybe we could help each other…"

George can't help himself then, and suddenly he's leaning forward and wrapping Angelina in his arms, hugging her for all he's worth. Because after weeks, and months, of suffering alone, of friends and family trying to comfort him when they didn't even feel a _fraction _of what he felt, finally, this girl he was always at odds with, in the span of just a few sobbed sentences, has managed to capture everything he's felt. She _understands_, and that feels better than anything he's felt in a long time. He can't thank her with words for what she's giving him in that moment, and so he gives her the only comfort he can think of. Gives her the one thing he has to comfort himself, something he hasn't shared with anyone else.

"I felt him go. What we had didn't break off right away, and before he went wherever it is that he was going, he opened it up, and he let me feel what he felt."

Angelina pulls away from the hug and leans back to look in George's eyes, her face full of apprehension.

"And- he- he didn't want to go, obviously. But- it- it can't have been bad, whatever it was, because he wasn't scared-"

"He was never scared of anything in his life though, was he?" Angelina interrupts, her voice dry. The tiniest of laughs building in the back of her throat.

"No, I don't suppose he was." George snorts. "Git."

The two stare at each other for a long moment, tears shining in both sets of eyes. Finally, George looks away, clearing his throat uncomfortably and downing his rapidly cooling tea in one go. Angelina also shifts, now that the moment has passed and wipes tears from her eyes as she finally releases the rucksack in her lap.

"He left this at my flat." She says, dumping the contents of the bag onto the small sofa table. A toothbrush, a pair of trainers, several loose pieces of parchment and a small leather-bound notebook spills out of the bag with a dull thud. "I wasn't sure if the papers were important."

George shifts through the sheets gently, running his fingers over the ink of his brother's crude sketches. Most are prototype drawings for older products already on the shelves, a couple of some things they'd been working on before the war got really heated. It's the notebook that draws George's attention though. It's a small bright magenta book, with the store's triple W emblem stamped into the leather cover.

"I've been looking for this." George says, softly, as he cracks the book open to reveal pages upon pages of Fred's messy scrawl. "It's the Ingredients Listings for the new batches we were working on. Joke Sweets. Seems so trivial now, so stupid."

"I don't think it's stupid at all." Angelina says, lightly, as she busies herself, neatly stacking the other papers and arranging Fred's belongings on top of the bag on the table. "I'm sorry I didn't bring that by sooner… I guess I thought it would comfort me some… holding onto his things."

George puts the book back on the table and blinks at Angelina as he registers what she's just said. It stirs something in his mind; something he remembers spotting in the bedroom the very brief times he's snuck in there to grab fresh clothes. He gets up from the sofa without a word to Angelina and walks to the bedroom door. He steps over the mess on the floor, and with a steadying breath, he pushes the door open with a loud creak. The room is dark and stale smelling, dust floating in the air. He hasn't been in here very much in the past few months, hasn't slept in his bed since a week before the battle at Hogwarts.

George walks across the room swiftly, not planning to stay longer than required. He spots what he's looking for lying trapped in the covers of Fred's dusty, unmade bed. A faded mustard colored jumper; one of his mother's making, it was Fred's and a few years old. The yellow clashed horribly with Fred's hair and he didn't wear it often, but George had often seen Angelina wearing it at Lee's, or on the occasions she spent the night with Fred.

George grabs the sweater and backs out of the room as fast as he can, slamming the door shut behind him. He stands against the wall for a moment, lungs heaving and hands shaking, before moving across the sitting room, back to Angelina who is collecting herself, putting on her jacket, getting ready to leave. He hands her the sweater without comment. Angelina looks startled for a moment and then takes it from him gently, her expression softening.

"Thank you." She whispers, and then she turns to leave. She gets to the door and as she turns the handle, says to George with a small smile, "You know, you're really not a whole lot alike, you and him. I don't think you ever were."

A memory flashes in the back of George's mind, and for the first time in a long time, he remembers the advice his father gave to him in Burrow's tiny kitchen, all those years ago. And then he realizes something.

"Angelina."

She turns back to face him, one foot already out the door.

"You can tell us apart."

"Of course I can." She says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Before you ever dated Fred," George continues, swallowing thickly. "Even back in first year, you always knew that he was Fred, and I was George."

Angelina is silent, her face still wearing a slightly bemused, slightly pained expression.

"That- that meant a lot to him… It means a lot to me." George says.

"Don't be a stranger, George."

Angelina steps out into the cool night air. The door shuts behind her with a very final snap, leaving George standing alone in his sitting room, more confused than he's felt in a very long time.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Hey guys, so sorry about this update. I accidentally uploaded a partial file before Christmas, which is why the chapter didn't appear, and I've been away from the Internet for a while due to a family situation. Thanks so much for your patience and to everyone who messaged me to let me know there was a problem! :)**

**I'm in University full time now, so things are busy, but I'm still writing. My stories are not abandoned. And although updates may be slow, I promise they will keep coming. **

**Thanks so much everyone, hope you all had a happy and safe holidays! **

**-Laine**


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